The Horsewoman(35)

I had to be under 74 seconds. If I went over by a tenth of a second, I got a time fault and some other horse would be the last qualifier for the Grand Prix.

We had just passed the big screen. This time I would have looked at my time on the way by. Too late for that now.

Maybe too late for us, period.

I didn’t know where I was against the clock.

But Daniel did.

“Go!” I heard from the in-gate, as loud as I’d ever heard him with me, or Mom, or anybody.

“Go…go…go!”

Then I was the one shouting “Go!” at Coronado.

Let it ride.

We were both running hot now.

One last combination.

One jump after that.

But the horse was flying now.

Nailed the combination.

“Come on!” I yelled, as much at myself as my horse.

In other sports, the players could see the clock when they were trying to beat it at the end of a game.

Not me, and not now.

Seven strides to the last jump.

Coronado took them so fast it felt like one.

Cleared it with ease.

Big screen was behind us, far end. I jerked my head around, saw our time up in the corner: 73.9.

Tenth of a second under the number.

Boom.





THIRTY-SEVEN



DANIEL ORTEGA, WHO never liked to let his guard down, who never wanted you to know what he was really feeling, looked as happy as I felt.

He walked up and took Coronado’s reins, smiling broadly, and planted a big kiss on the side of Coronado’s head.

“Oh, sure,” I said. “He gets a damn kiss.”

Then Daniel reached up for a high-five and I slapped him one as hard as I could.

“Holy mother of God,” I said.

“I may have said a prayer myself,” he said. “In two languages. I watched just about every horse out there today. And I knew their times going into the last three jumps. You and Coronado beat them all by two seconds.”

“Thanks for the heads-up, by the way.”

“I might have scared people on the side rings.” He grinned and said, “Other than that, we had it all the way.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Piece of cake.”

Results were posted on the monitor next to the in-gate. While Daniel went to check them, I turned Coronado back around, walked him a few yards back into the ring. Daniel always told me that a deeper understanding of the course comes from looking back at it when the round was over.

One tenth of a second.

We’d made it to Saturday night by that much.

When I turned Coronado back around again, I saw Steve Gorton standing with Daniel, nodding as Daniel pointed at the ring, Gorton’s face looking slightly flushed, another glass of champagne in his hand.

Daniel extended his hand to Gorton then. Gorton either didn’t see it, or simply ignored it.

“I got it, okay?” I could hear him saying to Daniel. “I don’t need a tutorial on the scoring.”

Then Daniel said something that I couldn’t hear.

“I told you, I…get…it,” Gorton said.

Then he was walking out on the course as Coronado and I walked toward him. I actually thought he might be smiling. The round hadn’t gone the way I would have drawn it up. But that didn’t matter now.

“So what did you think?” I said.

“Not good enough,” he said.





THIRTY-EIGHT



DANIEL AND EMILIO walked Coronado back to our barn. I told Daniel I’d see him down there later, then went looking for my mom and Grandmother in the tent. No one was going to be celebrating, or as Grandmother liked to say, spiking the ball. We’d live to fight another day. Still a good day for us. We’d had enough bad ones lately.

They were still at their table when I got there.

“Well,” Grandmother said, “that was certainly fun for the whole family.”

“And certainly not dull,” Mom said.

“From the time he landed until I turned around and saw the time,” I said, “I’m pretty sure my heart stopped beating.” I grinned. “But only for a tenth of a second.”

“You rode great, honey,” Mom said. “Neither of those rails were your fault. You know I’d tell you if I thought they were.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered whose fault they were if we hadn’t picked it up the way we did at the end,” I said.

“But you did pick it up, that’s all that does matter now,” Mom said.

“Great jockeys talk about asking their horse in the stretch,” I said. “Not sure I ever really understood until today.”

“Asked and answered,” Mom said.

“Great horses have an extra gear,” Grandmother said, waving at a waiter and telling him she needed a damn drink, and she needed it right now.

“Top riders, too,” Mom said, patting me on the arm. “Your old mom is thinking that maybe you answered some questions about yourself today.”

Mom moved her chair close to mine then, picked up her phone, hit Play, and showed me the video of the round, breaking it down. For as long as I had been riding, she’d never been close to an easy grader. She was almost as tough on me as she was on herself. And her standard was to jump even higher than everybody else in the field. Mom’s score on any round I rode secretly mattered more to me than any judge’s, whether or not I won a ribbon.