The Horsewoman(33)

Gus wasn’t just a trainer now, he was one of the most sought-after in the country.

But he worked only with a select few riders. “We call it the no a-hole policy at this barn,” he said. “If I think you are one, you don’t ever make it into the ring.”

“Does that apply to the trainer?” Maggie had joked to him one time.

“No,” he’d said. “Lucky for him he’s the a-hole who gets to make the rules.”

She needed to be up on a horse to start feeling whole again. Was never going to do that with free weights or on a treadmill or a sit-up board. She had to be up on a horse. Today was finally the day. She didn’t think she’d been feeling sorry for herself. But knew she never could in Gus Bennett’s ring.

Not looking to ride fast. Probably not doing much more than a walk. Not jumping. She was realistic enough to know that she was nowhere near that. But she brought her boots and helmet and breeches with her, changed in Gus’s tack room. One of his grooms, Seamus, walked out the horse Gus had chosen for her to ride, one he called an “oldie but goodie” named Paladin.

“Oldie but goodie sounds a lot like me,” Maggie said.

“Stop complaining,” Gus said.

He was in his Zinger, the all-terrain electric wheelchair he used to get around at his barn. Not because he needed electric. By now, from using manual wheelchairs, he had Popeye arms. When he was working, and wanted to get somewhere, he wanted to get there fast.

“You’re sweet.”

“Like hell,” Gus said.

Seamus helped her up into the saddle. She took a deep breath, gave the horse a quick pat, started Paladin off at a walk, and a slow one at that, one time around the ring. The next time around she jogged.

Suddenly she felt her heart pounding and she struggled to catch her breath. She pulled on the reins and brought the horse to a stop.

“Did I tell you to stop?” Gus yelled.

“Just lost concentration for a second there,” she said, willing her breathing back to normal. “More out of practice than I thought.”

“Get over it,” Gus said.

Maggie looked down at her hands on the reins and saw them shaking.

“This isn’t the pony ring,” Gus said. “Are you ready to do this?”

“I’m ready,” she said.

“Show me,” he said.

She managed to grin. “A-hole,” she said.

Already she could feel the strain in the muscles in her back. She went around the ring again. Could already feel the ache in her bad knee, because she was squeezing the horse too hard with her legs. But she wasn’t stopping.

You came here to ride.

She did that now, still jogging him, feeling the slight morning breeze in her face as she made a turn at the far end of the ring. Feeling more alive than at any moment since the accident.

Like the person she used to be.

Smiling.

She was a few strides past Gus, about to make another turn, when she felt her right foot slip out of its stirrup. It could happen on any ride, could even happen in competition.

Now it was happening to Maggie.

Afraid—make that scared to death—that she was about to fall off, Maggie felt herself leaning hard to her right, starting to slide down the horse, her boot trying to find its way back into the stirrup but flailing in the air.

A shout escaped her that sounded like it came from a little girl using grown-up language.

“Shit!”

She could see Gus putting the wheelchair in motion, not that he was going to be able to do much to help her.

Her boot found its way back to the stirrup and she jammed it in there, hard. The rough motion shot searing pain from her bad knee up her leg and nearly to her rib cage. She ignored it as best she could and managed to straighten herself in the saddle. A minute later she had brought Paladin to a walk. She handed the reins to Seamus, but when the groom reached to help Maggie down, Gus yelled at him to stop.

“I thought we were done,” Maggie said.

He spun the wheelchair around, spraying the horse with dirt.

“We’re just getting started,” Gus said.

Maggie called after him, “Catch me up: are you working for me or am I working for you?”

Gus didn’t even turn around.

He just threw back his head and laughed.





THIRTY-FIVE



I WAS SCHEDULED to go dead last today, sixtieth out of sixty horses. And was totally fine with that. By the time Coronado and I were on the course, I’d know exactly how the field had performed, what kind of time I needed, if I could get away with four faults—one rail—or eight. Or even more.

For this one day, as crazy competitive as I usually was, as much as I wanted to prove that my flawed ride was a one-off, the reality was that, like an Olympic sprinter in a qualifying heat, I only needed to be fast enough to make it to the finals. I didn’t need to break any records, not today.

Daniel and I watched together from my perch up in the bleachers. Today I wanted his company, to not only see what was happening on the course through my eyes, but his as well. I even had a pen and the order sheet, checking off names and marking down scores. Halfway through the round, only six riders had gone clean. Matthew Killeen was one of them, with the best time so far, 70 seconds flat, well under the allotted time of 74. He was in the jump-off, so was Tess McGill. So was Tyler Cullen. And Rich Grayson, who’d been making a big move up the rankings for months.