The Horsewoman(25)

The next line was a stride longer.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Another one clean.

We made a wide turn at the opposite end of the ring from the in-gate, approaching the big screen in the corner down there. There was a clock in the corner of the screen.

Don’t look at the time.

Three more jumps to clear before the speed round.

Damn, this horse felt good.

Then it was one more jump before the speed round, and we were over that, room to spare.

Come on.

Ten seconds from the finish.

Or less.

Eight jumps.

Cleared the first. Cleared the second. Handled a tight rollback with ease, not cutting it too close, not wanting to take a chance there.

Nailed the jump. What was the term in gymnastics? Stuck the landing.

Came around and was facing the big screen again. The horse flying now.

Don’t look at the clock.

Listen to Daniel’s words. All that ever mattered was the next jump.

Handled the next two with ease, perfect distances both times. I wasn’t one of those riders who’d tell you afterward they had a clock inside their head.

But we were getting after it.

Now I was yelling “Come on!” at Coronado.

Tough rollback coming up, tightest on the course. But Daniel had said that if I was going to steal some time, this was the place, if I was sure I could make an inside turn at one of the decorative flower beds. But only if I was sure I could get Coronado squared up in time.

I went inside.

Knew we had picked up time once I did.

Maybe that half second could make all the difference.

The stands were flying past us now, Coronado passing the announcer’s gazebo, then around close to the tent.

Yeah, I thought.

Hell, yeah.

Look at us. We can fly.

The double combination was dead ahead of us now. Then one last jump. I could feel him pick up speed without me asking, as if he knew exactly where he was, what he needed to do, how much course we had left.

Three jumps.

Ten seconds, tops.

Six strides to the first jump in the combination.

I was counting again.

Four.

Five.

Six.

No.

Shit shit shit.

I was too far away. Our first bad distance. I tried to add an extra stride and hoped it wasn’t too late.

It was.

We were too close.

Coronado tried. Tried his ass off. But we were too close when we went into the jump. His front legs crashed into the top rail, propelling it into the air in front of him.

The horse landed one stride distant from the second jump and when he saw the rail drop in front of him, came to a dead stop.

He refused the jump like he was slamming on the brakes.

I felt the horse duck and spook, as I flew forward toward an airborne state. That left only one strategy.

I bailed.

That’s what riders called it.

I bailed, and let go of the reins, and slid down the side of Coronado and landed on my butt.





TWENTY-FIVE



I’D NEVER RIDDEN any horse in competition and ended up on the ground. Had come close a few times, once hanging on for dear life in Kentucky. But I’d never found myself in the dirt when I was going for a ribbon until now. Definitely not here.

At least Coronado didn’t bolt. Horses often did when a rider came off them, started galloping around the ring at full speed. Daniel and Emilio had gotten him under control the day he came back from the trail ride without Mom. Sometimes in a ring as big as this one it would take a half dozen or more people.

Coronado just stayed where he was between the two jumps, as if waiting for me to tell him what to do and where to go.

Three more jumps.

I got to my feet, did a quick physical inventory, realized I wasn’t hurt. Apart from my pride.

Emilio was now taking control of Coronado, walking him around the second jump and slowly back to the in-gate. Daniel was still there. I’d waved him off, signaling him that I’d take what I’d always considered a rider’s walk of shame alone.

“It was all my fault,” I said when I got to him.

“At least nobody was hurt,” he said.

“He’s all right?” I said.

“He seems to be fine,” Daniel said.

“Makes one of us,” I said.

We exited the in-gate so that the next horse could enter, then headed for the schooling ring. I could feel the eyes of the spectators up there in the expensive seats, looking down on me.

Yeah, I thought.

Looking down on me in every way.

I just needed to get around clean, whatever my time was, whether I ribboned or not. Show everybody I belonged. Then we were into it, Coronado and me, feeling it, and the speed round was nearly over, and I thought we really could win.

But the only thing I could absolutely not do, one hundred percent could not do, was have my horse leave the ring without me on it.

Bad Becky.

I looked down at my jacket and breeches and saw they were covered in the dirt I hadn’t stopped to clean off in my push to get out of the ring. Screw it, I thought. I’ll clean up later. How long since Daniel and I had walked the course? Ninety minutes? Two hours?

Now this kind of walk.

“You want to talk about it?”