This horse, the favorite in the race, would give trouble to any three-year-old in the country, including the colts.

Alec stroked his filly’s neck. She had lost her skittishness and was quiet, maybe too quiet. “Wake up, girl,” he said. “Don’t go to sleep on me now.”

Delta Belle was being led into her stall and Alec studied her rider, Eduardo Gomez, whom he knew only by reputation. Gomez was no different from most of the other young riders who had come up from racing in countries south of the United States. Gomez was Panamanian, just eighteen and very hungry to win races. He rode Delta Belle into her starting stall, his long black hair hanging from beneath his protective helmet.

Gomez caught Alec watching him and grinned. “She not happy with this weather,” he said. “Me too. We win. We go.”

Alec smiled back but said nothing. He studied Gomez’s face for some indication of what the other jockey planned to do. But there was nothing to see in the Panamanian’s face, just dark skin, high cheekbones, sunken eyes, making him look ravaged and hungry despite his incredible success this year riding. No doubt that the lean, poverty-stricken years behind him had left their mark and would always remain a part of him.

There was a loud thump, then lots of yelling, as another horse broke through the gate. But once again an alert outrider was there to head the horse off and bring her back.

Pam’s Song banged impatiently against the sides of her stall, and Alec said, “Too bad, but we have to wait a little longer. Easy, girl.” He hoped she was listening to him.

It was the number 4 horse coming back, Iron Flight, an iron-gray filly, her coat gleaming with obvious good health. She’d come up from the Maryland tracks, where she’d won her last five starts and was the second favorite in the race. She was small but solidly built, and had gotten into the race with 114 pounds, four less than Delta Belle. Alec knew she’d be a hard one to beat.

It made no difference to Alec, as it did to Henry, that a girl rode Iron Flight. Henry had little use for women at the racetrack, even as grooms. That was why he’d been glad to see Pam go.

Don’t think of Pam now, Alec cautioned himself again.

But his eyes followed the girl in Iron Flight’s saddle, knowing Liz Smith could ride with the best of the men. He had seen her race a few times in New York but she rode mostly at the Maryland and Delaware tracks, where she got more mounts. She’d waited a long time for this particular horse, for as she’d told Alec earlier, “I’ve hoped all along to get a two-year-old with class and ride him all the way through his career.” She was doing it with this filly, having lost only one race on Iron Flight last year at two, and going undefeated this year at three. But this was the first time she was meeting a horse of Delta Belle’s quality.

Or my filly, Alec reminded himself. He stroked Pam’s Song’s neck. His mount was being good, very good; only another minute or so now and they’d be off.

Alec watched Liz Smith as she rode past him to go back into the gate. He saw the wisp of blonde hair hanging from beneath her red-checkered helmet with the green pompon, then the flashing blue eyes as she removed her goggles to readjust them. She was small-boned, fragile-looking, but Alec was aware of her strength, as he had been of Pam’s. Everything about this girl’s appearance reminded him of Pam and he felt his great loneliness and the emptiness that went with it. But he’d be with Pam soon, he reminded himself, very soon.

Pam had surmounted the same obstacles as had Liz—sexism on the racetrack.