Excerpt
It’s two hours before midnight and Shelly’s legs curve around the western saddle, hugging the warmth of her Appaloosa pony horse, waiting for the next string of jockeys and horses to prance out of the paddock for the 8th race at the Meadowlands. Puffs of breath emerge from under the brown wool scarf wound around her chin and nose. Frozen toes clench inside her cracked, leather riding boots and gloved hands are tucked under her leather chaps. Only a few hard core bettors are down by the rail watching the lean, shiny horses parade onto the dirt, everyone else is behind glass walls drinking beer, eating hot dogs and studying the Racing Form, hoping to get lucky. Shelly twists her neck and shrugs her shoulders, trying to warm up, pry the knot loose in her muscles. This is her last race, after this she can get home by 11:00 and maybe get some real sleep before getting up at 4:00 for the morning work. Her race program is marked with circles and stuffed in her jacket pocket. The next jockey she is assigned to is Jacinto Marquez and she grimly waits, staring into the glare of the lights shining down from the grandstand.