The Horsewoman(19)

He started walking toward the driveway, as if he’d just adjourned a meeting. Over his shoulder he said, “Happy New Year, by the way.”

He was in his Porsche again today, Maggie saw. He got behind the wheel, slammed the door shut, gunned the sleek car into reverse. As they watched the speeding car disappear up Stable Way, Maggie said, “Should new acquaintances be forgot.”

She wasn’t entirely sure why she thought he was lying about meeting someone at the tent, and just happening by the barn. But she was pretty sure. It reminded her of something Jack McCabe had said once about a lawyer he knew who made frequent appearances on cable news.

“The guy lies to stay in practice,” Jack had said.

But if him showing up at the barn hadn’t been a coincidence, who’d called him?

She steadied herself on her crutches and went slowly back inside to be with her horse.

Shit shit shit.





NINETEEN



DANIEL AND I were in a back booth at La Fogata. Bad Mexican food was better than none, Daniel always said.

After we’d ordered dinner, a plate of nachos and Dos Equis on draft, he said, “We have to believe that the horse is going to be all right.”

“And on what do you base that belief, Dr. Ortega?”

He smiled.

“Because he has to be all right,” he said.

“What a long day,” I said. “About to become an even longer night.”

“Amen,” he said.

“Speaking of freaks,” I said. “How about Steve Gorton? That you agree he’s a world-class jerk is written all over your face whenever you’re around him.”

“I need to do a better job of hiding it,” he said.

“He dishes out crap to people as if it’s ice cream,” I said. “But I’m onto his act, and I’m not taking it from him anymore.”

Daniel did not hesitate.

“Yes,” he said, his voice barely carrying over the din of the place, “you are going to take it. We are all going to take it. And keep taking it.”

He somehow made his eyes seem as quiet as his voice, and in that centered space I tried to sort through my feelings for him. I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t admit that I did wonder if we could ever be more than friends.

And every time I was with him away from the barn and the horses, on the other side of a table or seated next to him at the bar, I always had the feeling that he was studying me as much as I was studying him. His life away from the barn was such a mystery to me that I thought of it as his secret life. It was difficult for me to accept that he probably did know me better than I knew him. Every time I tried to get to know him better, he would smile and hold me off, keeping me as much at arm’s length as he did the rest of the world.

“Anyway,” I said, “Screw Steve Gorton and the Porsche he rode in on.”

I raised my glass in a toast. Daniel raised his.

“Very funny, the part about the Porsche,” Daniel said. “Remember, though, an attitude like that could cost us this horse.”

“But you keep telling me I’m riding him now the way you want me to ride him,” I said.

“It doesn’t matter to him,” he said.

“It’s all that’s supposed to matter!” I said, suddenly slapping my palm on the table and rattling the dishes and glassware. “This guy doesn’t know a bridle from a bridesmaid. Why should I listen to him about anything having to do with Coronado?”

“Because he is looking for a reason to fire you,” Daniel said.

The restaurant kept getting louder and more crowded. Daniel leaned forward, as if protecting our conversation. He seemed to go through life worried that somebody might be listening to him. Or watching him. Or both.

Now he said, “A man as rich as Gorton takes control, even in an area, like our sport, about which he is almost completely ignorant. In his mind, he only made a deal for your mother to ride Coronado. He feels that this deal is now…” He stopped, as if searching for the right word. “Vacio,” he said finally. “Void.”

I started to answer, but he put a finger to his lips and continued.

“He wants to go over to the horse show, look at the standings on the leaderboard, pick a name, and get him to come ride the horse,” Daniel said. “It is really as simple as that.”

“Wait,” I said, “I know he doesn’t like me. But you’re telling me he wants me to lose?”

“Without any doubt,” he said.

“In his mind he wins if I lose, just like Grandmother says.”

Daniel nodded now. “He does not like the way your grandmother talks to him. She has no respect for him and he wants to be rid of her.”

I noticed Eric Glynn, an Irish rider and good guy who was even better company, waving at us from the bar, margarita in hand like a trophy. Normally I would have waved back and asked him to join us, but tonight I just gave him a quick shake of the head. He nodded his understanding, turned back toward a couple of other riders.

“Eric’s here,” I said to Daniel. “But we haven’t finished our conversation.”

“Mr. Gorton gave us a month,” Daniel said. “So he only wants the horse to lose for this one month, and then have a reason to get another rider, many months before the Olympics.”