The Horsewoman(30)

Perfect, he thought. Just perfect.

My morning just keeps getting better.

“So what are you going to do?” the man said.

“I know what you’re going to do,” Gorton said. “You’re going to win the goddamn Grand Prix.”

“If it’s not me, it’ll be somebody else, but never her,” the man said. “That was a total choke job yesterday. As easy a distance as there was on the course. It would have been like Secretariat’s jockey finding a way to lose.”

“Long shots have hit before,” Gorton said. “Not just horses. Even my Jets won a Super Bowl once.”

A silence settled between the two men. Bridge was still up.

“You saved yourself some money today,” the man said. “You take complete control of the horse in two weeks, correct?”

“But that little punk talked to me—to my face—like I was one of her grooms,” Gorton said, then paused. “Remember that movie with Tom Cruise and Jack Nicholson where Nicholson lost his shit in the courtroom?”

“A Few Good Men.”

“Those people screwed with the wrong Marine today,” Gorton said.

He sat there drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as the bridge finally started to come down. Still seeing the look on Becky’s face. The one who’d landed on her ass the day before acted like she won something today. Now every member of that family had treated him like some sort of schmuck.

“Like I said, you just need to stay cool.”

“You know what makes me lose my cool?” Gorton said. “People telling me to stay cool.”

“Hey, I’m on your side,” the man said.

“Then call me back with something I can use against them,” Gorton said, “just in case I need to.”

He was about to end the call when the man said, “Wait, I just thought of something.”

“What?”





THIRTY-ONE



IT WAS SUNDAY morning, less than a week to go until the Grand Prix qualifier, Daniel and I in the tack room, Emilio outside putting a saddle on Coronado.

Daniel wouldn’t have Sky and me jump at all when we were close to showing. He’d only had me jump Coronado at Atwood Farm after Mom got hurt to give me a chance to know the horse.

“I keep thinking that if I win, I win more than a hundred thousand,” I said. “If I lose, we all lose a million bucks.”

“Ve con dodo,” he said.

“That one I don’t know.”

“Let it ride,” he said.

I didn’t have to win on Thursday. Just needed to go clean and be in the top forty riders and make it to Saturday.

I went around the long course clean now, then waited on Coronado while Daniel set up the kind of jump-off course we’d encounter next week in the International Arena. Get around clean on the long course, in the time allowed, and you qualified for the jump-off. Half as long and twice as tricky, like riding full speed through a maze.

I nearly made a mistake today on the second-to-last jump, when I didn’t support Coronado enough, and felt his hind legs clip a rail. But the rail stayed up. It was all Coronado. In moments like that, you were supposed to imagine you were riding with your arms, helping to carry the horse over the jump.

This time I pictured myself nearly dropping him.

But didn’t.

“You relaxed,” Daniel said.

“I’m about as relaxed these days as a hummingbird,” I said.

“Then you lost concentration,” he said.

“Now that I can do,” I said.

“A boxer drops his guard and gets knocked out,” he said.

“Boxing is dumb,” I said.

“Losing concentration on this horse is much dumber,” he said.

“Your motivational speaking needs some work, have I ever mentioned that?” I said.

I trotted Coronado then. Emilio helped me down and walked the horse back to the barn. Daniel and I watched the video he’d taken of both rounds on his phone. He pointed out a couple of other technical mistakes, especially a rollback early in the jump-off where I’d taken the safe route and not made as much of an inside turn as I could have.

“A half second,” he said, “could make all the difference between qualifying and not qualifying.”

“At least I went clean,” I said.

“Barely,” he said.

“Come on,” I said. “You know I did good today.”

He smiled. “How about I reward you by buying you a burger later?” he said.

“Sure,” I said, hoping I didn’t answer too quickly and sound too eager. “But no drinking. I’m in training.”

“In that case, you drive,” he said. “Pick me up around seven.”

“Deal.”

Well, I thought, look at him. Asking me out on a real date. I’d said yes before really thinking about it. He could make the next move, if there was ever going to be a next move.

I wasn’t even sure I wanted there to be a next move.

Then why are you even going?

I knew that answer, too. Because I was curious to see if he would bring up that night.

Daniel was good and good-looking. And kind. Definitely kind. But still my trainer. It was probably inevitable that if some kind of romantic relationship did start, any awkward twist would mess up my relationship with him as my trainer.