Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(87)
Anna thought it seemed reasonable to her: children ought to feel comfortable demanding an audience if they were going to ride in this huge building. The bleachers were empty, but the stadium seating along the arena railing seemed to be pretty full.
“Where’s Mackie, then?” Anna asked. “Her class isn’t until this afternoon, right?”
“She seems to think that Michael might need some coaching,” said Joseph. If his voice was hesitant, the twinkle in his eye wasn’t. “Bossing, more like. It’s a good thing that boy is laid-back or Kage’s household will be hell until they both grow up and go out on their own.”
“She’s got a good heart,” Maggie said repressively.
Joseph looked at her, and Anna saw that he adored the woman who sat beside him. “She’s just like her grandma,” he said, patting her hand. “Tough, straightforward, and determined. You didn’t turn out so bad, Maggie my love. If she’s half the woman you are, the world better watch out.”
“Joseph,” said a stranger who came down the short stretch of stairs until he could stand next to Joseph’s chair, which was on the aisle. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“My grandson’s riding,” Joseph said with dignity. “Where else would I be?”
And the two men started talking about other days and other shows. Horses they’d owned, horses other people had owned. They were joined by an older woman who could have stepped out of the Grand Ole Opry of the ’80s. She glittered in gold and black tiger stripes, wore too much makeup, and had a voice that decades of smoking had roughened to Marlene Dietrich level. She was bawdy and made both of the old men laugh. Maggie leaned sideways and added a sharp remark that showed that she, too, was a welcome part of this group.
They tried to include Chelsea, and she smiled on cue, but she was noticeably tense in the big, noisy crowd. Anna glanced at Charles, who was watching Chelsea, too.
He didn’t look worried, so she sat back and looked around. Directly in front of them, a large group of very well-groomed and glittering horses circled the arena at a very, very slow canter. As soon as she started watching them, Charles whispered in her ear, “Half Arab, Anglo-Arab western pleasure, amateur owner to ride, section one. This is an elimination round. The best of them will go on to the semifinal round. That’s why no one in the audience is too excited about it, except for the cheering sections for each horse and rider.”
“They are very slow,” she said after a moment. “Shouldn’t they be going faster? What if something was chasing them? I think Portabella walked faster than this yesterday. What’s an Anglo-Arab?”
“Half Thoroughbred, half Arab. It was the first of the half-bred Arabs to gain popularity. The Thoroughbred added size, so bigger people could ride. These are almost all quarter-horse or paint crossbreeds, except for the Appaloosa down there.” He paused. “That’s a really nice Appaloosa.”
Joseph, still chatting with his buddies, had apparently been paying attention to them, too. “Still got the eye. That mare won this class the past two years running. If this is a fair sampling of her competition, she’s got a good chance of winning it again. If Helen’s daughter-in-law doesn’t take it with her Shining Spark gelding.”
Anna quit trying to parse the horse talk (for instance, what in the world was a Shining Spark gelding?) and just settled in and watched pretty horses moving very slowly with pretty riders wearing sometimes garish colors and lots and lots of glitter. The men were better off than the women, coming off conservative in comparison.
All the while, Anna breathed in deeply, paying attention to what her nose could tell her. Mostly it told her that at least two people around here were wearing too much perfume, and there were lots and lots of horses around.
The riders were called into the center, those advancing to the next level were announced, and then they cleared the ring. Almost instantly the stadium seats filled and the nosebleed bleachers saw some use. Joseph and Maggie’s gossip partners wandered off to find their seats.
Over the loudspeaker, the announcer said, “This is class one-sixteen, lead-line ages two through seven. First in is Candice Hart, riding Little Joe Green by Mister Vanilla out of Desert Wind Doll, with handlers Josie Hart and Karen Tucker.”
And a tiny girl who was younger than Michael came into the ring wearing a tiny pink cowboy outfit that glittered with pink rhinestones under the lights. She wore itty-bitty pink boots and bright pink fringed chaps. She sat on a very small black saddle that looked utterly ridiculous and precious at the same time. Instead of a cowboy hat, she wore a bright pink riding helmet. The horse, a very pale palomino, carried his tiny burden with solemn majesty. The two adults walked on the left side, one holding a lead clipped to the bridle, the other with a hand on the tiny girl’s leg.
“That is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Anna seriously.
“Just wait,” said Maggie. “It’s not over yet.”
And one at a time, each little rider was announced and led in. There were English riders, western riders, and one who looked like an extra from The Sheik in what the announcer called traditional costume. The costume was a bright-colored flowing thing with enough tassels, jewels, and bangles to leave any self-respecting Bedouin tribesman running for the hills.
“Next in we have Michael Sani on three-time national champion SA Phoenix by Xenophonn out of SA Rose Queen. Leading them in is Kage Sani.”