The Horsewoman(22)

I would have been lying if I told myself I’d never wondered what it might be like, Daniel holding me and me holding him right back. But the last thing I needed right now was another complication in my life. Or a boyfriend. Especially as bombs kept dropping, not just by Daniel Ortega, all around me.

Morning came and Doc Howser didn’t call. He might be treating another horse, or in surgery. I came downstairs for coffee and found a note from Mom on the kitchen table.

Might as well do some real sweating while we sweat this out. Should be at the Wanderers Club awhile if you want to join me.



When I got to the gym, I saw Mom before she saw me. She was seated at one of the machines, under the watchful eyes of Todd, who was as much her physical therapist as her trainer.

Right after Mom’s fall, I’d done some reading about pelvic injuries, and learned that the recovery time varied from person to person, depending on how long after surgery it took for the fracture to heal enough to safely sustain weight-bearing exercises.

She was doing arm pulls. Even using the lightest possible weight, her face was red with strain and she was sweating through her workout gear.

“We can stop anytime,” I heard Todd saying to her.

“No,” Mom said through clenched teeth.

“This isn’t a competition,” he said.

“To me it is,” she said.

Todd shrugged. “Okay, then,” he said. “Five more.”

“I know how many reps in a set,” she said.

It was when she finished the five that she saw me standing just inside the door.

“Any word?” she said.

Coronado.

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“You have your phone with you? I left mine in my locker.”

I produced my phone from my back pocket.

“Can you keep it with you while you work out in case he calls?”

“That’s the plan,” I said.

“I keep telling myself that no news doesn’t mean bad news,” she said, as if trying to convince herself. Then she added, “On a more pleasant note, how’d dinner with Daniel go?”

I paused and then said, “Interesting is the word I’d use.”

“Good interesting or bad?”

“Little bit of both,” I said. “Tell you about it later.”

“That sounds mysterious,” she said.

“No shit, Sherlock,” I said.

She tried to stand, rose halfway, sat back down hard. Todd extended a hand to her. She waved it off. Then got to her feet the second time and without her crutches limped toward the next machine. Over her shoulder she said, “Wanna arm wrestle?”

“I’d need to work up my strength,” I said, heading to the exercise bike.

“Ha,” she said.

She and Todd went over to one of the leg-press machines, which she worked with her left leg until she’d done three sets of fifteen reps each. I kept sneaking looks at her, seeing the same fierceness on her face that I always saw in the close-up photographs Grandmother paid to have taken of her up on her horse.

No, I thought. This was another level up from that, a look that bordered on obsession. I couldn’t lose, or lose this horse, because of what losing would do to her, forget about the rest of us.

Every couple of minutes I’d look at Mom and then look at my phone.

Still nothing from Doc Howser.

After doing a couple of miles on the bike I began my usual weight circuit, alternating upper body and legs, three sets at each machine, feeling a little obsessive myself, feeling pissed off at Steve Gorton all over again, angry that even if I did win on Coronado, he won, too.

I was finishing my last set with free weights when I saw Mom, a towel around her neck, taking a rest on one of the benches.

“Still nothing?” she said.

“I’m fixing to call him myself,” I said.

“No,” she said. “When he knows something, he’ll call.”

“How can you be so calm about this?”

“It’s just a cruel deception,” she said. Then she grinned. “I’ve been watching you,” she continued. “You look like you’re in the ring already.”

“Sometimes I wish it were a boxing ring,” I said.

“Fight fight fight,” she said.

I grinned back at her.

“You sound like a cheerleader.”

“About all I can handle these days,” she said.

Just then I saw the double glass doors to the fitness center open, and Dr. Richard Howser walked through them, looking around until he spotted Mom and me.

He walked over to us, his face, as usual, showing nothing. He also never screwed around, even when he was Dr. Doom, about to deliver some particularly shitty news.

Please don’t let it be bad.

Then he smiled.

“The horse is fine,” he said.

Now he was the one I wanted to kiss.





TWENTY-TWO



“A MILD INFECTION,” Doc Howser said, “caused by dirt getting inside the cut. You could probably get away with giving him just one day off.”

We decided on two. Back in the ring, not doing any real jumps, using ground poles for distances, Coronado was perfect.

Now it was Saturday afternoon, our first competition together, the $10,000 Jumper in the International Arena.