The Horsewoman(43)

“I’m the one who should be on that horse,” Cullen said. “I know it. You know it. She’s the amateur, whether she did get lucky or not tonight.”

“What really bothers you,” Daniel said, trying as hard as he could to keep his voice even, “is that she is half your age and her best days are ahead of her.”

“Veta a la mierda,” Cullen said.

Telling Daniel in Spanish he must have picked up at his barn what he could do to himself.

“Look at me,” Cullen said, “using your language.” He shrugged. “Who knows, maybe before too long you’ll be somewhere speaking your real language full time.”

Daniel felt himself clenching and unclenching his fists. Telling himself that though Cullen may treat life as a video game, he was still one of the top riders in the world. The last thing he needed was for the police to show up and break up a fight. And have reason to believe that Daniel had started it.

“Before I went into the ring, you looked like you had something to say to me,” Cullen said. “Nothing stopping you now. Just you and me.”

Now turn and walk away.

“You know nothing about me,” Daniel said.

“Maybe more than you think,” he said.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’d hate to see anything happen to you or any of your friends, is all,” Cullen said. “Doesn’t seem all that safe for you people these days. Seems like every time I turn on the news, one of you is going away. Like, for good.”

You people.

There it was.

“The only place I am going right now is to a victory celebration,” Daniel said.

“Hope you have proper ID in case you get pulled over,” Cullen called after him. “You do have proper ID, right? I mean, I know you and your girl are thinking about Paris. But it’d be a shame if you ended up back in Guadalajara or someplace instead.”





FORTY-EIGHT



MOM AND GRANDMOTHER and I had just finished a big breakfast of pancakes and turkey bacon and even Mom’s homemade hash browns. Grandmother had gone off on her power walk. Mom said she was going to work out. Coronado was getting the week off. I was getting ready to ride Sky, let her know I hadn’t forgotten her.

I was at the sink, handwashing Grandmother’s china and silver. For a tough old horsewoman, she loved fine things, and decreed that none of those fine things would ever see the inside of a dishwasher. So the duty of washing and drying and storing the plates and cutlery usually fell to me.

But I nearly dropped one of the plates, one I knew had been a wedding gift, when I heard the familiar explosion of tires and gravel on the driveway, looked out the kitchen window, and saw Steve Gorton pulling up in an unfamiliar sleek blue car.

The window was open. I briefly imagined what had been such a nice morning flying out of it, down over the barn and away.

I snorted as loudly as one of the horses. Of course Gorton was talking on his phone as he walked across the driveway wearing a crimson cap printed HARVARD BUSINESS SCHOOL. As he got closer, I heard him say, loudly, “I’m telling you, I don’t care what he says, he’s lying out his ass.”

Then he nodded and said, “How do I know? Because I do it all the time myself.”

His disappearing act after the Grand Prix had stretched into a full week. The last person I knew who’d talked to him was Dad, when he’d whispered that heartfelt message in his ear.

Gorton put his phone away when he got to the ring.

I dried my hands and went out the kitchen door to meet him.

“Hey,” he said.

“Good morning, Mr. Gorton,” I said sweetly, all fake sincerity.

“Listen, I haven’t had the chance to congratulate you since you won the thing,” he said.

One way to do it without actually doing it, I thought.

“You saw the best part of the night,” I said. “No need to stick around for the after-party.”

“Including Tyler Cullen’s little shit show,” he said. “Heard about it, though.”

“That was a little different,” I said.

“I like Tyler,” Gorton said. “Guy’s a great rider. But he didn’t do himself any favors with bullshit like that.” He smirked. “You want a different result? Ride faster, am I right?”

“He still nearly beat me on a day our horse was perfect,” I said.

Our horse. Smiling. Now I was Rebecca of Atwood Farm with him.

“Listen,” he said, “I might not be the best loser in the world myself. But you won the thing, fair and square. Didn’t just beat Cullen. Even beat my friend Mike Bloomberg’s kid, too. Don’t think I didn’t call the former mayor of New York first thing the next morning.” He paused. “Anyway, a deal is a deal.”

He put out his hand to me. I hesitated at first, but then shook it.

“You stay on the horse,” he said.

That was it. Meeting over. He walked away from me, got into his car, drove away, not pulling out like a lunatic for once. I watched the sleek blue car make the turn onto Stable Way, heading for Palm Beach Point.

I stood on the front lawn and watched him go.

“He is lying out his ass,” I said to myself, and then went to ride Sky.