She looked at Emilio and said, “Give me the reins and all of you get the hell out of my way.”
Then Daniel watched as Becky rode the horse the way he wanted her to ride him, rode him hard, flying around the ring, not coming close to a rail, holding back nothing. Same horse. Different rider.
When Becky finished the course, she came back around with Coronado, took off her helmet and the hairnet she wore underneath it, shook her hair loose. Full of challenge, she looked down from the big horse and said, “Was that good enough for you?”
“Better,” he said.
He went inside the barn and placed a call.
“Maybe my plan wasn’t so crazy after all,” he said.
“She can’t do this without you, Daniel,” Maggie Atwood said.
“Deja que ese sea nuestro secreto,” he said.
“I only recognize the last word,” she said. “Secret.”
“Let that be our secret,” Daniel said to her.
But not the only secret, Daniel knew.
FOURTEEN
Caroline
THREE NIGHTS LATER, Caroline Atwood requested the table in the far corner of the back room at Oli’s, a favorite restaurant among Wellington horse people. Gorton arrived a half hour late.
“We took off late from Teterboro,” he said.
The regional airport was no Andrews Air Force Base, but Caroline knew it was where he kept his personal Air Force One when it wasn’t flying him into Palm Beach International.
She thought about saying How awful for you, but didn’t, remembering Becky’s directive that she needed a charm offensive tonight.
“What in the world is that?” Caroline had said to her granddaughter, who had been heading out to dinner with friends.
“Heavy on the charm and light on the offensive,” Becky had said.
“Got it.”
“Basically,” Becky’d said, “try to be good.”
“I thought that was my line,” she’d said.
She hadn’t spoken to him in days, since he’d told her to get a new rider on Coronado. He hadn’t said “or else,” but the threat was clearly implied.
Oscar, her favorite waiter, brought Gorton a vodka martini and Caroline an iced tea. “We’ll wait to order food,” she told him. She thought, If we ever get that far.
Gorton raised his glass and clinked it against hers.
“Cin,” he said.
Sweet Jesus, she thought.
He drank down half his drink, smacked his lips, and said, “First of the day. Nothing like it—except making some of the boys and girls in the fund enough money to buy the Bahamas.”
Caroline took a deep breath and remembered what Becky had said.
Try to be good.
“So,” he said, “have you given much thought to our problem?”
“Maybe finding the right rider to replace my daughter is not a problem at all,” she said. “Maybe it could turn out to be an opportunity.”
“I’m listening,” he said.
“I think we’ve found someone. Well, me and our trainer.”
“The Mexican kid,” Gorton said.
“Daniel,” she said.
“Sure,” he said. “So what’s this rider’s name?”
“Becky McCabe.”
Gorton laughed. “Your granddaughter? You’re shitting me. I saw how badly you and the Mexican kid reacted when she rode the horse the other day.” Caroline didn’t bother to correct him again. Sometimes Daniel called him bastardo. More often he called him el cabron. An ass. Actually worse. “She’s gotten better since then.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “She’s not riding the horse.”
He barked out another laugh.
“Despite what you saw,” Caroline said, “she happens to be perfect for this particular horse.”
“My ass,” he said.
“Let’s talk this through,” she said.
“What’s there to talk about?” Gorton said. “The granddaughter you say has never applied herself to riding? The one I hear you bitching about, and the trainer bitched at the other day? That granddaughter?”
“She gets better on him every day,” Caroline said.
“She’s got a horse of her own, right?”
“She does,” Caroline said.
“Good,” Gorton said. “She can ride her horse, not mine.”
“I’m telling you,” Caroline said. “She’s the best rider for this particular horse.”
“Then why did you buy him for her mother and not her?”