Chapter Twenty-Two. Winnie

Soon, I'm astride Mab, waiting for my name to be called over the echoing loudspeakers. Adrenaline courses through my bloodstream, the effect making me nearly dizzy. I have to consciously work to focus. Mab is practically skipping beneath me. I grasp her reins tightly as she jerks and hops within the small square of space of behind-the-fence realty I've allowed her.

I know how you feel, girl. Wide-open spaces sound really tempting right about now.I calculate the distance to the exit. Worst case, we make a run for it and never look back.

But for now, the arena will have to do. There are two heats this evening, and the average of all our times, minus any deductions, will give us our final scores in the rankings.

Up until thirty minutes or so ago, I could not care less about my rankings. I wanted to do well and represent the ranch, of course, but I already know as long as I don't fall off, Mab and I are golden. I just need to not make an ass out of myself and let everyone down—and to be honest, that was enough of a challenge. There're a lot of curious eyes in the stands, way more than I've ever faced in my life.

Then Christine Reynolds showed up like a black fly buzzing around my past. She flipped her perfectly curled hair that I bet she didn't even have to research to get right and called me a charity case. And now I'm pissed. Even if she's technically correct.

But I've swallowed back my pride over and over the past few months to do this. It's worth it.

Even if it means Christine's derision, it's worth it.

My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the reins in my clammy fingers. I inhale through my nose, holding my breath tight inside my lungs. I relax my shoulders and tilt my head side to side, loosening my neck muscles. I wipe my hands down my denim-clad thighs one at a time and recalibrate my grip. Mab's muscles twitch beneath me, and she shifts her weight impatiently.

"Steady, girl," I murmur.

My name is finally called over the loudspeakers, but I barely hear it over the loud rush of blood pounding in my ears. I press my knees, giving Mab the slightest nudge. She's bursting to go, but I hold her back, so we appear to literally dance our way up to the starting alleyway. Mab high-steps like true royalty. Once there, I take one last breath and kick her into gear.

Mab shoots out like a lightning strike, and we're off to the first barrel. I'm uncharacteristically stiff on her back, adding an extra bounce out of rhythm, and she's uncharacteristically reluctant, slowing more than necessary before the turn, but still we clear it. The second barrel is a little better. The third catches the toe of my boot, causing the barrel to wobble. Mab does a small jump-skitter away, but my hand shoots out, automatically righting the barrel just as I've done in practice without bothering to see if it's left standing. I click with my tongue and give Mab an extra jab to shift into high gear, but she's way ahead of me. We've caught our groove by now and blessedly move as one unstoppable force across the finish line.

I don't even look up at the scoreboard. I know it's not as fast as I wanted, and that's my fault. My jitters. That off-stride bounce at the start. My toe catching the barrel. Mab's skitter. I caught the barrel, thank goodness, because that saved us from a deduction, but I have ground to make up in the second ride.

I lead Mab back to our corner, not making eye contact with anyone else, and dismount. I round to Mab's front and touch my forehead to hers. Both of us are still working to catch our breaths, though not from exertion. We've conditioned for this plenty and could easily complete that course several times over without batting an eyelash, but there's nothing like the feeling of fire in your bones and electricity in your veins. It'll change you; it's already changed me.

Because I can tell after one race, I'm a different person. I know what it feels like to ride the wind and chase the buckle, and I'm pretty sure I can't ever go back.

(Which is too bad, because I wouldn't mind turning back the clock to the third barrel so at least then I could have tucked in my boot and avoided the tip.)

After a moment, Mab jerks her head. I raise my eyes to hers, and she gives an impatient flick of her tail as if to say, Get a grip, Winnie.

"Oof," I say to her in a low voice, scratching my fingertips against her shoulder. "No rest for the human. Give me a quick second to pick my heart up off the ground and recalibrate."

"That was pretty good, Sutton," his deep voice drawls from behind me. "I mean, I've seen better, but for your first effort…"

A huff of laughter escapes before I say, "Fuck off, Michaels."

His large hand wraps around my arm, and he gently tugs me to face him. His expression is determined as his eyes dart back and forth between mine, checking to make sure I'm okay. Always checking. I've wondered if maybe it should annoy me that he's so determined to take care of me, except, well, it doesn't.

I've never had someone check in on me before, so I'm in zero danger of feeling stifled by the attention.

"In all seriousness, you did really well, Win. More than well, even. You two shot out of the gate, and you could hear a pin drop. You're all anyone can talk about right now. You're in th—"

I cover his lips with my fingers, and his warm breath tickles against my skin. "Please don't say. I don't want to know."

He nods, his blue eyes lit in understanding.

"Because I can do better."

Case grins. "You can."

"I'll do better this time."

"I've no doubt," he says. Then, dryly, "Maria told you to tuck your toes on those turns."

I narrow my eyes and smack his chest. "Lord, I knew you were gonna say that."

"I'm not done. Did you take deep breaths beforehand?"

"Yes, sir, Life Coach, sir, I did."

"You sure? You looked a little stiff. Granted, you still looked better than anyone I've ever seen on horseback, but…" He trails off and licks his lips, and I follow the movement along with the sudden appearance of his dimple.

I clear my throat, feeling caught. "We both know that's a big fat lie." I lower my voice, and he leans closer. "Maria and Duchess are pro level."

Case pulls back, grinning ear to ear. "And I bet you gave her an eyeful today. Just like you did my dad and your brother and sister and, oh yeah, Camilla, who's practically floating on cloud nine. Besides, Maria's been around as long as Walker and I have. That was your very first race ever, and you nearly—"

I cover his mouth again, feeling my cheeks warm. His lips twist under my fingers, and he holds up two hands in surrender.

"Right," he murmurs against my skin. "Sorry."

"Did you see who else is here?" I ask, my eyes darting to where Christine is grooming her horse across the way.

He follows my gaze and nods. "Yeah, I saw her." He's extremely casual as he asks, "Did she say anything to you?"

I shrug. "Nothing I can't handle."

His gaze turns intense. This close, I can smell the leather of his vest and the soap on his tanned skin. "Good."

"Hey, there's the power duo!" Camilla says, walking up to us and giving Mab a happy pat on the rump.

Case steps back, mouthing the words cloud nine. I grin, pleased, and try not to notice the way his absence leaves me feeling cold. Am I cold, or is he just hot?

Heh. Is it okay to think your new best friend is hot? I mean, I thought he was before we became friends, and I like him more now.

"I should leave you to get ready for your second run. I'll be watching in the stands." He moves to Mab, caressing her forelock and saying something in a low voice for her ears only. The secrets that horse must hold…

He struts off with a salute over his shoulder and yells, "Sans broncher, Sutton!"

Don't flinch.

Camilla instructs me to climb back into the saddle and gives a few hands-on instructions on my form. She leaves, and my name is called to line up once more. I start working on my breaths. Mab's still skipping around, but she feels more in control. She knows what we're doing now. She's gotten accustomed to the noise.

"Such a smart girl," I croon, rubbing her neck. "We can do better this time, can't we?"

"I hope so," Christine says, walking past on a gorgeous Thoroughbred. "You embarrassed yourself with that barrel slip."

"Ignore her," I say to Mab in a loud voice. "She's just jealous you're prettier than she is."

Christine flutters off, and by the sheer volume and force of the crowd's reaction approximately thirty seconds later, I know she did well.

But not as well as we're about to do.

Our names are called and once again, I direct Mab to the long, narrow alleyway leading into the arena. This time, I tune out the noise and distractions. I will away the roaring in my ears and home in on the course in front of us—on the feel of Mab's muscular frame. I pay attention to the way her sides rise and fall with her breaths, and I slow mine to match. "Just me and you," I tell her. "Just me and you." Then I nudge her into movement.

This time, we're in sync from the start. No bouncing. No skittering. No mistakes. One barrel, two barrels, three barrels, fly.

And fly Mab does. I press forward, feeling her breaths, feeling her steps. Her hooves barely touch the ground, and my body barely touches her. We're both weightless.

When we cross the finish seconds later, I collapse across her neck, rubbing down her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her mane.

"Just like that, Queen. Just… like… that. Good girl," I say. "You did so well."

The final scores come in, and we don't get first. As Maria predicted, my name is directly under hers. It's so close, I'm left wondering if I hadn't nudged that barrel in the first run, we could have beaten her and Duchess.

Which feels wild to even contemplate, but still.

Regardless, I couldn't care less, because my name is above Christine's and nearly an entire second separates us. From this moment forward, she'll have to live with the knowledge she was beaten by a trailer girl on a borrowed horse racing in her very first rodeo.

And that ain't a bad feeling at all.