The Horsewoman(66)

The third time around Gus actually smiled back.

“You’re so full of shit,” he said. “Trying to act like you’re not hurt.”

“Now that hurts,” I said.

“Shut up and ride your damn horse,” he said.

When I finished, Daniel was the one to come into the ring and help me down. We walked her back to the barn together, got her saddle off her, found a carrot for her in the tack room refrigerator, hosed her down, let her have a big drink, put her in her stall.

She looked perfectly fine, despite doing double duty today. I was ready for another hot bath, and that shot of tequila.

Grandmother had gone back to the house by the time Daniel and I were back outside. Gus and Mom were where we’d left them near the gate.

“I already knew you were a hard-ass,” he said. “You didn’t need to prove it tonight.”

“Just trying to give you some much-needed positive reinforcement,” I said.

“What I need is a drink,” Gus said.

“Same,” Mom said.

“I’m buying,” Gus said.

He turned his chair around, pulled out a remote from the side pocket of his vest, pushed a button. The doors to the van opened. A minute later he was being lifted up behind the wheel as Mom got in on the passenger side.

“Date night?” I said to Daniel.

“Looks like,” he said.

We watched Gus get the van turned around and head down the driveway and then out to Stable Way.

“You want to have a drink here?” I said.

“Thank you,” he said. “But I have to be somewhere.”

Then he got into his car and drove away. I went up to the house, got the bottle of Patrón, brought it back down the hill, sat down in the straw next to Sky.

“Cheers,” I said.

She looked at me.

“Date night,” I said.





EIGHTY-TWO



WHEN IT WAS TIME for the 3-Star the following Thursday, last tune-up before the National Grand Prix, I was still sore but hadn’t missed a day of riding, on Sky or Tiny, since getting thrown. It was one of the reasons that Gus had started calling me Bad Ass Becky McCabe.

I told him it was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to me.

Mom had even decided to enter the same event, right before the Wednesday four o’clock cutoff, after she saw how many of the other top riders were in the field.

Maybe they were angling to keep themselves and their horses sharp. I was there to win. Rode that way. Went clean in my first round, then straight into the jump-off.

“Ride like hell now,” Gus said as I passed him at the gate. “Post a kick-ass time and let the rest of them chase you.”

Gus didn’t make a big deal out of the water jump when he’d looked over the course alongside me. Just talked about my line, and my distance, the way he did all the other jumps.

“We treat all jumps the same,” he said, and left it at that.

Then Sky, bless her heart, handled it perfectly the first time through. I was nervous as we approached, even panicking a little as I saw the light reflecting off the pool, right before the sun, almost by magic, went behind a cloud.

Now we had to clear it again in the jump-off, where the water was on the other side of the second-to-last jump.

A lot of jumps before that. Sky took them all clean. The course wasn’t built for long-striding horses. This one was built for speed. And my little horse had a ton of that.

The cloud was gone now as we came up on the water. We were going straight back into the sun. I heard Gus from behind me, yelling, “Get your head down!” I did. Thought at the last moment that I’d gotten Sky too close to the jump, and I had. Then my horse’s big heart took over. And took care of it. When I looked at the video later, I was amazed at how high she’d gotten, how easily she’d cleared the top rail, how far past the water she’d landed.

Like she really was flying this time.

We sprinted to the finish from there. I jerked my head around to look at the big screen.

29.4.

We’d beaten thirty seconds on that tough, close-quarters course.

I couldn’t help myself then, brought Sky back around to where Gus was sitting and threw a fist.

He didn’t change expression.

“Bad ass,” he said.





EIGHTY-THREE



THERE WERE FIFTY in the class. Tyler Cullen, going after me, got an early rail. He was out. Matthew Killeen in his first round had bested my time but couldn’t beat thirty seconds in the jump-off. Nor could Georgina Bloomberg or Eric Glynn. Or Andrew Welles. Two rails for Tess McGill. Two for Jennifer Gates.

Six other horses had made it clean through the jump-off.

Nobody under thirty seconds by the time it was Mom’s turn, going forty-eighth. Best rider left. Best horse. Gus and I were watching from up on the pedestrian bridge.

“Gotta be weird for you, right?” Gus said as Mom walked Coronado into the ring, Daniel beside her.

“Wouldn’t be a problem if it was somebody like Tyler,” I said. “But it’s my mom.”

Then we both watched in silence as Mom went clean. Not a particularly fast first round, but she was in control of herself and her horse, knowing exactly how to avoid a time fault.

Now the jump-off for her.