Please log in to recommend or discuss...
Ihave a history of making rash decisions. You know, the kind of move that saves the day in fairy tales. Only, when I climb the beanstalk, the giant smashes me into jelly. When I ride to a ball in a carriage made of pumpkin, my gown that was sewn by rats splits up the back, and I wind up covered with pumpkin innards.
Big, bold decisions just don’t end well in real life. At least, not for me.
I know this.
Which is why I ought to turn around and walk away, but I don’t have much choice. It’s all or nothing today, thanks to my dad and his idiot rivalry with an old university nemesis.
Well, that and his lifelong gambling problem.
And yes, it’s a little hypocritical that I’m planning to fix his mistake. . .by placing a risky bet and hoping it pays out.
But I worked hard and I have faith in myself. Today’s race may be a Hail Mary, in American football terms, but there are only seven horses, and Five Times Fast is the best one. I know it. Plus, the only person my gamble might hurt is me.
If this works, I’ll save the family farm we’ve had for ten generations. I can’t even think about what happens if I lose today. If I take time to think about it, I’ll start crying again. That won’t help anyone.
I squeeze the wad of fifty-euro bills in my fist and force myself to take a step forward. Every step feels harder than the last. I’ve saved for forever for the down payment on my own horse hospital, but losing our farm would be even worse than delaying my dream yet again.
Finally, I reach the front of the line, but before I can say anything, someone grabs my arm and spins me around. It’s the very last person in the entire world that I ever thought I’d see standing in front of me.
Sean bloody McDermott.
I haven’t seen his face in person in more than ten years. It feels surreal to have his hand on my arm. He’s wearing an impeccably tailored suit, like he was the day we broke up. His blonde hair looks exactly the same as it did. It’s like time hasn’t touched Sean. His face is unlined. His eyes are just as bright as ever. And his shoulders might even be broader.
Why am I even surprised? The aristocracy never changes. Eventually he’ll gain a few grey hairs that make him look dignified, but everything else is a constant.
I hate that his appearance affects me this much, even after ten years. He dumped me, but that doesn’t mean I’m still the pathetic girl I was back then. I’m a confident, capable business owner now. I need to remember that.
I wrench away and back up with so much force that I run into the window. The employee inside clears her throat.
“We have some business to handle first,” Sean says smoothly, with a practiced smile on his face. “She’ll come back.”
He turns and starts to walk, just assuming that I’ll follow after him like a good little baby duck.
Too bad, Sean. I’m not a baby duck anymore. I’m in my mid-thirties, and no one tows me around behind them.
I turn back to face the Totes employee. “I’d like to put fifty thousand euros on Five Times Fast. To win.”
The Totes employee blinks. “There’s a €250,000 winning limit per day in Ireland.”
I shrug. “With the odds on Five, that’ll be just about right.”
“Kristiana.” Sean’s tone is terse. I wonder how far he went before he realized I wasn’t following him and circled back.
“I don’t have much time before I need to report for the race,” I snap. “Go away and leave me alone.” I start to hand the money through the window.
Sean snatches it from my hand.
“This is new,” I say. “Is work not going well? You’re stealing now?”
He grits his teeth, his gorgeous blue eyes flashing. “I’m trying to help you.”
“Kris.” My dad’s voice floats toward me from several paces away.
Something in my stomach twists. “Dad?” I turn around.
“Miss, if you aren’t betting. . .”
I step aside. If my dad’s here with Sean, and he’s not jumping in to defend me. . . Suddenly my blood runs cold. We are in Ireland, which is much closer to where Sean lives than I usually am, but what are the chances we’d run into him by accident?
He’s a banker, not a jockey. His family still races, but I imagine his work keeps him from trolling the racetracks every so often.
“Dad.” I don’t even have to ask.
I can tell he’s guilty from the look on his face.
“You’re in silks.” My dad steps out from behind the awning that was blocking him from my view. “You fired our jockey and you’re planning to ride. Aren’t you?”
He’s got me there. “I had to let him go. He was drinking again. His carelessness was ruining Five.” And also, we couldn’t afford to pay him, anyway.
Dad inhales slowly. “I know I’m the one who called him, but like you, I had no choice.” He glances sideways at Sean.
“Your dad made the right call. The terms for the balloon note he showed me are just awful, and—”
My head pivots. “Go away. This doesn’t concern you. It’s between my dad and me.”
“Kris,” Sean says, “be reasonable. Your farm has been in the family for more than a hundred years, and—”
I snatch the money he just took back. “After the way you dumped me? I wouldn’t dump my soda on you if you were on fire.” I shake my head. “Go away, Sean. We don’t need your help.”
He flinches, but he nods and pivots on his heel. One thing rich Brits are excellent at is walking away without a fuss. The only thing worse for them than talking about money in public is making a scene.
“And as for you.” I spin around to face my dad again. “You’re the reason we’re in this mess, so you don’t get to question the way that I fix it. How could you call him without even asking me first?”
Dad inhales shakily. “But Kris—”
“But nothing. Go away and let me place my bet.”
If he wasn’t torn between chasing after Sean and yelling at me, he might have ignored me. But as it is, Dad’s already struggling with the fact that his meal ticket is practically jogging away.
The odds against Five Times Fast aren’t terrible, but they aren’t great either. He’s not a favorite, for sure. Which means with a bet of fifty thousand, I’ll make enough to pay the first balloon payment that’s due next week.
Only, when I try to place the bet a second time, the woman narrows her eyes at me. “You’re wearing silks.”
It’s her job to ask. My bright yellow silks mark me as a jockey, and jockeys can’t bet against their own horse. Most jockeys don’t bet at all. It’s poor form, really. You run the risk of pissing off the boss, or making future employers nervous, or both.
I hand her Five Times Fast’s registration papers and my passport. “I am a jockey, but I’m also the owner.”
She glances at my paperwork. “You’re the crazy rider-owner.” She slaps her hand over her mouth.
It’s not common to ride a horse you own. Usually you’re a terrible rider, or you’ve got a terrible horse. I’m hoping to disprove that particular stereotype today. “That’s me.”
Owners can bet on their own horses, as long as it’s to win or at least to place, so she accepts my money. “You’re optimistic.”
Desperate is probably the more accurate word, but saying ‘optimistic’ is more diplomatic. I extend my hand and she hands the papers back. She runs my money through a counting machine, shakes her head, and hands me my ticket. “Don’t lose that, now. It might be worth a lot.”
I really, really hope it is.
I push past dozens of people waiting to place bets. The constant noise at the racetrack is comforting in its familiarity. I try to pretend this is like any other race, but my stomach isn’t buying it—it’s twisting into knots. The fourth race at Down Royal, the Ladbrokes Champion Chase is the first Grade One race of the Irish steeplechase season, and it starts in thirty minutes. Ladies’ day is always packed, but the beautiful weather today probably contributed to the mass of bodies.
I navigate briskly through the throng of people, jumping to the side to avoid impalement on a ridiculously long peacock feather. The best-dressed contest this year is offering a trip to Rio de Janeiro, and the women have stepped up their game accordingly. It’s all part of the fun of racing, but I don’t have time to look around. I need to do my final check-in and then get Five ready. It always passes in a blur, the final moments before a race. It’s been seven years since I rode as a professional jockey, and I’m a little nervous to be doing it again.
At least my tall bay pony is perfect.
Five Times Fast is sleek and shiny and his feet practically float as I lead him toward the racetrack. I think he’s the prettiest bay here, and he’s easy to recognize with just the one small dollop of white over his front right hoof. His coat gleams and has very faint dapples. His ribs don’t show, but they almost do. That’s what you want with a racer, really. As fit as he can be without looking half-starved. He isn’t sweating at all in spite of the workout we just finished, the warmth of the sunshine, and the anxious energy that always precedes a race in a strange place.
Five loves to race, and it shows. His ears swing right and left, but his eyes are calm. I lean my head against his, and he exhales loudly, as if to tell me he’s ready. I hope he really is.
I’ve always felt like I understood what my horses felt and what they wanted. I don’t ask them to do anything they aren’t ready for, and I never jump a horse that doesn’t love it. Five Times Fast pulls eagerly toward every fence I point him at. I’ve been riding since before I could walk, thanks to my mom, and I’ve never been thrown, not once. Even when I was a professional jockey for two years, I never came out of my saddle. It earned me a rather irritating nickname.
I glance around at our competitors. There are only six horses in the race with us, for a total of seven, but they’re some of the very best horses in Europe. The excitement is nearly palpable as the race with the biggest purse of the entire weekend approaches. It’s not National Hunt money, but still, 125,000 euros attracts some attention.
Earl Grey, a clever name for the grey gelding next to me, is favored heavily to win. He’s larger than Five Times Fast, but he looks nervous. He didn’t travel far enough to look that nervous—fifty kilometers to our three thousand. His rider’s also a grade A jerk. Jackson Buley doesn’t even make eye contact with me. If I lose today, I really really hope it’s not to him.
Persnickety, a bay gelding to my right, shifts from one hoof to the other repeatedly and his ribs are a little too prominent. They’re working him too hard. I bob my head at his jockey, Natalie Coolie. There aren’t many female jockeys, and it makes me smile that there’s another in the Ladbrokes Chase. I don’t really know her, though. She started a few years after I retired officially to focus on my veterinary practice.
In It To Win It is a nut-brown gelding who was favored to win last year. He’s back this year, and his owner, a twenty-year-old IT millionaire from America, has been emailing me. Odds are against him, but that’s what makes chasing fun. The odds don’t always mean very much. In It To Win It’s sweating a little more than I’d like if he was my mount, but sometimes the nervous sweaters win. I don’t know his jockey, a young man who looks quite dashing in his red silks. I raise my hand and he salutes back.
“Hey Sticky,” a familiar voice behind me says.
I turn to see Finn McGee, resplendent even in his traitorous green and blue silks, walking toward the starting line. He doesn’t like Rickets much more than I do, but he can’t afford to snub the owner of the wealthiest barn in Europe. Finn’s the most successful jockey in Ireland, maybe in the entire UK, but he still has to make a living. I’ve known him for years now, so he doesn’t intimidate me like he used to. I should’ve properly greeted him—I should pay attention to my old friend. But he can’t possibly blame me. I can barely squeak out any words at all.
“Hey, Finn,” I manage to say.
Given the beast he’s leading, he’ll understand my distraction.
His horse is entirely ebony, a stallion I notice, not the typical steeplechase gelding retired from a career on the flat. His coat and mane shine like a reflection on water. His eyes flash. His hooves strike the ground sharply with cracks, like flint on steel.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful horse.
He’s also monstrously tall, a good hand taller than Five Times Fast, and Five’s just above sixteen hands. “What the devil are you riding?”
“Aptly worded question.” He grins. “His papered name is Obsidian Devil. It’ll be our first real ride together. Forrest hates him, and I guess we’ll find out why Rickets is willing to defy the best trainer in the country. He picked him up in Russia, of all places.”
Forrest Smithers is arguably the best trainer in England. If he hates this black beauty, he must have a reason. But he has managed Rickets’ stable for a decade or so, and I know Rickets trusts his opinion—he’d be a fool not to—so it’s strange to hear that they don’t agree on something.
“I always heard vodka was the only good thing to come out of Russia.”
Finn winks at me. “It may still be.”
Obsidian paws the ground and snorts heavily. His mane shimmers, and I want to touch it so badly that my hands practically itch. As though he’s similarly affected, Finn reaches over to pat his neck, but Obsidian snaps at him.
Finn snatches his hand back and shakes his head at me. “I’ve never seen a more ill-mannered horse,” he says, “and that’s saying something. The good news is, I negotiated a bonus that’s actually more like a small fortune in exchange for riding him.”
On impulse, I lean forward and place my free hand on Obsidian Devil’s magnificent muzzle. Even with my riding gloves on, a zing runs through my entire body. Obsidian calms immediately and presses his face gently into my palm.
“He likes you?” Finn rolls his eyes. “Of course he does. Every horse on the planet loves you. It’s so unfair.”
Five tosses his head jealously, and I step back from Finn’s magnificent creature. As soon as I move my hand, Obsidian snaps at Finn again. I can’t help laughing.
“Forrest should be paying you two small fortunes,” I say. “I don’t envy your ride today.” But that’s a complete lie. I want to ride him so badly I could cry.
Five tosses his head again, which is unlike him. If horses could scowl, he’d be scowling at Obsidian. As it is, he’s stuck flaring his nostrils and stamping.
“It’s okay, boy,” I whisper. “He may be beautiful, but you’re gorgeous too, and you’re much better behaved. I still love you the most. Now, make sure you run your heart out today. Mom put all her money on you. I’m utterly doomed if we lose, and that Obsidian is making me very nervous.”
Obsidian’s ears flick my direction while I’m speaking to Five, and I have the most uncomfortable feeling that he’s listening to me. I shake it off. Horses are intuitive, yes, and I believe they understand far more than we give them credit for, but there’s no way he could even hear me whispering from here, much less understand the words I’m using. I scratch underneath Five’s forelock, and he leans his head against me and sighs.
“It’s you and me, Five. We can do this. We have to do this, or I’ll lose the farm.” I snort. “No pressure.”
I’ve just mounted when Sean shows up again.
“You aren’t supposed to be over here,” I hiss. “We’re about to be called up.”
“A win here is temporary,” Sean says. “I can loan you whatever you need and give you real time to repay it.”
“Please go,” I say. “Now.”
But he isn’t giving up as easily this time. He sets his jaw, like he’s determined to be some kind of superhero, coming boldly to my rescue. He drops his voice even lower. “I know racing still scares you. It’s not worth the risk.”
“You’re a little late to start caring about me.” I roll my eyes. “It’s been a decade. Or were you stuck in some kind of stasis all this time?”
I swear, at that exact moment, Obsidian Devil snorts. The timing is so perfect, that I almost believe for a moment that he’s paying attention to our interchange and that he understands it. He’s also dancing around a lot less than he was—and maybe it’s because Finn’s finally on his back, but it feels like it’s because he’s listening in.
I’m going crazy.
Sean’s brow furrows. “I know I screwed up, but I’m here now.”
“I don’t need you here,” I say. “Not anymore.” I urge Five forward.
Sean starts after me, clearly not dropping anything.
Obsidian lunges forward at the same time, nearly running Sean over.
Then they call for us to enter the track. Sean finally grits his teeth and walks away. A moment later, when they call us to approach the tape, Five prances up perfectly, prettily even. Obsidian’s chomping at the bit and dancing left and then right like a drunk bumblebee. It’s even worse than it was before, on the ground, and I can’t help laughing.
“It’s not funny, Sticky. Knock it off.” Finn’s smile belies his gruff words. We circle up and move toward the tape in an inconsistent bunch, the horses shying and head-tossing as they move forward. As always, my jittery nerves fade away when they finally release us. I know what Five Times Fast is capable of, and I’m ready to help him win.
We pull ahead quickly at the beginning. Five did quite well with flat racing. If he didn’t jump quite so beautifully, I might have kept him there, but as we approach the first jump, his timing’s perfect.
He’s ready to win this.
He sails effortlessly over the first fence and heads into the bend in perfect position, a full length ahead of the other horses. The cool November air streams past my face as we clear the next fence and round the bend to the ditch. From the corner of my eye, Earl Grey’s bearing down hard on the inside. When we reach the ditch, he’s only half a length behind me, so I push Five toward the inside and Earl Grey falters on the ditch.
We pull ahead again.
Five and I sail over the fourth and fifth fences and into the downhill jump on the sixth, just as I planned. We’re rounding the turn toward the stands when a pounding sound has me glancing to the outside, just in time to see Finn’s salute as he and his monster fly past me.
I could scream with frustration.
Five can’t pick up that much speed, not going into the seventh and eighth fences, which are brutal. I hope maybe, just maybe, Obsidian will botch things, going so fast over the fences, but he doesn’t. He clears them with nearly a foot to spare. I’ve never seen anything like it. The crowd’s going wild. Finn’s always been an attention monger, but this is shaping up to look very, very bad for me. I try not to think about the fifty thousand pounds I’m about to lose, not to mention the purse money.
I lean down near Five’s neck. I don’t use a whip on him—never have. “Come on boy, I know you’re really flying, but I need a little more. We’ve gotta beat that big bully or we lose the farm. You can do it. I know you can. Let’s stay as close as we can, and at the end we’ll really push, okay?” I pat his neck, and I swear Five bobs his head. Horses understand me, and I understand them. If Five can possibly win this for me today, he will.
We gain on Obsidian on the long stretch between eight and nine, and pull up until we’re almost neck and neck.
I look Finn in the eye and he winks. That jerk winks at me. Like he knew Obsidian would eat Five for breakfast. He whips Obsidian once as we approach the ninth fence, and Obsidian’s ears flatten. The black stallion clearly hates the crop.
Some horses don’t mind a tap now and again—it encourages them, letting them know when to move. I’ve rarely used it, because my horses understand me. I only race horses that love to run. But for most jockeys, it’s an invaluable communication tool.
Finn should already have known that Obsidian hated it, but clearly he didn’t. After we clear the ninth fence, he uses it again. Obsidian actually slows down, and we pull even with them. I smile broadly at Finn.
He scowls back at me. He has the faster horse. He should beat me. But he doesn’t know his horse like he should.
We both clear the first ditch on the second loop, Five and I on the inside, and Obsidian giving us a wide enough berth that it almost feels like he’s being polite.
After the second ditch, with only five fences to go, I lean down and croon in Five’s ear. “You can do it, boy. You can pull ahead. I know you can beat that evil, black beast.” My sweet pony hunkers down and runs, putting everything he has into it.
He’s tired, though.
He clips the fence on fifteen and nearly stumbles. Obsidian pulls ahead.
An entire length ahead.
Five’s giving me everything he has. . .but it isn’t enough.
I don’t want him hurt—I can’t stand the thought of that—so I pat Five’s neck. “It’s okay. You’re magnificent, but if he beats you, it’s okay.”
Nothing’s okay.
If we lose, I lose everything. My life savings, my family farm.
Maybe even Five.
Tears stupidly well up in my eyes. As we clear the sixteenth fence on a downhill incline, Obsidian’s three full horse lengths ahead. Even if Finn screws up, we can’t catch him.
I’ve lost.
Everything.
Then inexplicably, with one fence to go, Obsidian slows. Finn’s whipping him, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Five and I race alongside him. Five pulls around on the outside, clears the last jump, and puts on every bit of speed he has. We fly past Obsidian, and I swear he bobs his head at me when we pass him to win by a nose.
Obsidian pulled back and let us win.
I’m sure of it.
A horse let me win. A horse just granted us a stay of execution.
I can hardly hear myself think for all the cheering, the loudest of which is coming from my father. The world feels crazy and confusing, but when I see his smile, I know everything’s okay.
