The Horsewoman(79)

Maggie had made it around the course in 74 seconds. Two seconds over the time allowed. Two time faults. But she had gone clean. Daniel tried to explain the reasoning to Gorton.

“Today’s round was really just a glorified workout,” he said finally.

“Were they keeping score?” Gorton said.

“Excuse me?”

“Were they keeping score?” Gorton said.

“Well, yes.”

“There were fans at that ring in East Cupcake, right?”

“I saw you there,” Daniel said. “You know some people were watching.”

“Then it wasn’t a workout,” Gorton said.

“She rode well,” Daniel said. “That is the most important thing.”

“She rode like crap,” Gorton said.

“I tried to explain,” Daniel said patiently. “She wasn’t here to go fast.”

You’d know that if you knew anything about the sport.

“Stop making excuses for her!” Gorton said. “I know what I saw.”

Daniel did not want to be here, trapped into talking with this man.

“She was nearly five seconds slower than the goddamn winner!” Gorton said.

“She rode today the way she needed to ride,” Daniel said, stubbornly refusing to be lectured by someone who wouldn’t know how to saddle a horse if his miserable rich-man life depended on it.

Feeling as if he were talking to a child.

“You know as well as I do,” Gorton said, “the way the bitch is dropping like a rock in the rankings.”

Daniel took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm himself.

Bitch.

Could not stop what came out of his mouth next.

“She deserves more respect than your name-calling, Mr. Gorton,” he said. “She is a great rider still. And a better person.”

“Says who?” he said. “You?”

Daniel thought, I have to get out of here before I say something that gets me fired.

“We’re all supposed to be on the same team,” Daniel said, “that is all I am trying to say to you. And please lower your voice.”

“She’s running out of time, and I’m running out of patience,” Gorton said. “For a month, she’s ridden no better than average. Everybody can see it. Maybe the only one who won’t admit it is you, chico.”

Daniel felt the heat rise up in him, as if a switch had been thrown, feeling it in his face, the back of his neck, everywhere. Wondering if Gorton could see it.

Chico.

Boy.

It took all of his will not to respond.

“Got anything else to say?” Gorton said.

You have no idea.

Daniel forced himself not to challenge this man, not to take irreversible action. But as much as he wanted to smash a fist into the man’s face, he knew a rash move could ruin everything.

So he kept breathing slowly. Telling himself he was not a violent man. No matter how much he felt like one now.

“Didn’t think so,” Gorton said, and got back into his fancy car, putting it in gear and cranking up the music.

Daniel walked over to his own car and started the engine, turned on the air-conditioning as high as it would go and just sat there for a few moments, forehead pressed against the steering wheel. The heat drained out of him. He felt his whole body unclenching, releasing the fierce restraint that had kept him from hitting the last man in the world he could afford to hit.





NINETY-NINE



THREE EVENTS REMAINED that would shape the United States Olympic team. One was playing out in front of me at the Rolex Ring, Kentucky Invitational.

Mom was one rider out, Tyler Cullen set to go into the ring ahead of her on Galahad. Then Eric Glynn and Matthew Killeen.

Then me.

I’d gotten a second in the three-star event back in Wellington. Mom had gotten a fourth and ridden well, ultimately losing in the jump-off by a second and a half. More important, it moved her back up into fourth place in the Olympic rankings. I was third.

Even people who didn’t follow show jumping had started to take notice of what Mom and I were trying to do, make the same Olympic team. The Lexington newspaper ran a feature when we’d arrived in town, the writer calling us the Kris and Kim Kardashian of our sport.

“Fake news,” Grandmother said that morning at breakfast. “Neither one of you has grown up yet.”

Tyler went clean in the jump-off, a beautiful round, even I had to admit, a time of 35.6. Mom was better with 34.8. Three riders left. I was one of them. I was happy that Mom had done well. No BS. I honestly was. I still wanted to beat her. I wanted like hell to win.

“Use your head today,” Gus said. “And go out there and kick some ass.”

It was time. Nobody was beating Sky and me today.

I looked around the ring from the in-gate and realized all over again how much I loved this. This. The moment. Nobody else mattered now. Not Mom and me or Daniel and me. Not Grandmother or Gus. Not even Steve Gorton. None of the drama we’d all had outside the ring. Not even everything that was on the line today.

Just Sky and me.

I heard the announcer call my name, then Sky’s. Knowing we might be a little more than a half minute from walking away with one of the biggest weekends of the year. By now, after the way things had gone for us lately, it wouldn’t shock anyone if we did. Certainly not me.