“My daughter will never give up that horse,” Caroline said.
“Won’t be up to her,” Gorton said. “So we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”
“There’s an easy way?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She quits now and saves all of us a lot of aggravation and I give the horse to Tyler Cullen.”
The old lady told him what he could do with that idea, and where he could put it, and that it would happen over her dead body.
“Not the first to tell me that,” he said. “Sure you won’t be the last.”
He turned and left her there, looking like a fighter hanging on the ropes. It was always the same, no matter what the business. They all thought they knew Gorton, how far he’d go to actually get what he wanted. They had no idea. He heard her curse him one more time. He just laughed even louder than before, waved without turning around, and kept walking. He had somebody else to screw with now on the other side of town.
NINETY-FOUR
Maggie
MAGGIE KNEW WHY she’d wanted Daniel back as her trainer, why it worked, having him back, until it didn’t. But she had never understood, not really, why he had agreed to leave Becky. He didn’t just love training Becky. He loved her, whether he admitted that to himself or not. And she loved him.
The other day when Gus was leaving Atwood Farm, she’d asked him whose idea it had been, really, to swap trainers.
“Mutual,” he said. “Best for everyone to keep feelings out of it.”
“Whose feelings?” she said.
“Like I just said,” he told her. “Everyone’s.”
And it had worked, until it had stopped working.
It wasn’t Daniel’s fault. No, she told herself, this one I have to own. Daniel had been right today, of course. She hadn’t ridden that badly. Just not well enough. Before she had got hurt just before the New Year she’d had six whole months to raise her level, with all the open ring in front of her. That time was gone. And was in the process of blowing an even better shot at the Olympics she’d had all those years ago on Lord Stanley. When she was a lot younger than she was now.
That was what had her scared now, not the fear she’d been feeling before on Coronado. It was why she was angry so much of the time. Only when she was alone on Coronado, not even Daniel around, did she really feel any peace. Not jumping the horse. Just hacking. Making one leisurely trip after another around the ring at Gus’s barn, usually when he was over at Atwood Farm working with Becky.
What if she did make it and I didn’t?
What if everything had changed when I didn’t make one inside turn because I thought Becky needed the win more than I did that day?
What if that had been a wrong turn in about a hundred different ways?
She cursed loudly as she slammed her hands down on the steering wheel, again and again, before getting out of the Range Rover and walking into the Trophy Room.
It was still early, so just a few people at the bar, and at a handful of the tables in the front room, one populated with riders she recognized from the show. Maggie gave a quick wave, not stopping to say hello, just grabbed a seat at the bar, the two next to it empty. She never went to bars alone. Or hadn’t in a very long time. She was making an exception tonight. Becky was out to dinner with Daniel. Caroline had driven down to Coral Gables to spend the night with her oldest friend from high school.
Maggie had made a decision that left her feeling a sudden need to get out of the house. She’d officially entered herself and Coronado in a three-star event next weekend at Deeridge. The reason was simple: she needed points.
More than that, she needed to remember how to win before she lost everything.
The bartender was a big young guy in a crew cut, weight-room muscles straining against his tight T-shirt, arms sleeved with tattoos. When he came over, she ordered a pinot grigio, after briefly considering something a lot stronger.
The bartender set the glass down on the coaster in front of her. Maggie took a sip then heard, “This seat taken?”
Tyler Cullen.
NINETY-FIVE
Maggie
HE SAT DOWN BEFORE she could say she was waiting for someone. Or make up some other lie. Cullen was already ordering a dirty vodka martini, some brand she’d never heard of, and four olives, and further instructions about exactly how little vermouth he wanted, as if he were telling the kid how to build a rocket ship.
Maggie thought, The guy’s a jerk even ordering a drink.
“I don’t mean to offend you, Tyler,” she said. “But I just wanted to have one quiet drink here. Alone.”