NARRANDERA CUP

Kylie looked at Gareth’s race book.

“You’ve circled one.”
Gareth tried to look casual.
“Number five. Yam.”
She stared at him.
“You picked one yourself?”
“I’ve been here three months.”
“That wasn’t my question.”

Finn appeared over Gareth’s shoulder.
“Yam?”
Gareth nodded.

Finn smiled.
“I like him too.”

Kylie laughed.
“Well, that’s ruined your credibility.”

When they jumped, Gareth made a determined effort not to ask anybody what was happening.
Acheson was out in front.
Yam was back in traffic.
And for a moment Gareth wondered whether three months of Australian racing had taught him precisely nothing.
 

Then Cassidy Hill found the opening.
Right along the inside.
Yam came through.

Past one.
Then another.
He gathered up Acheson and drove clear.
Yam had won the Narrandera Cup by nearly two lengths.

Gareth turned towards Kylie.
“I picked the winner.”
“You did.”
“Without help.”

Finn coughed behind him.
Gareth ignored him.
Kylie smiled.
“Maybe we’ll make an Australian of you yet.”

Gareth looked at her.
“Maybe.”
Later that evening, over dinner, he would find himself thinking about Devon.

But he still wouldn’t ask.

Not yet.