Page 111 of Quiver

She remembered Ava’s question, couldn’t or wouldn’t? Now she had her answer. It wasn’t that she didn’t have the feelings or didn’t want to set them free. She simply couldn’t tell this woman she loved her and then let her go.

Instead, she accepted the bow Fletcher held out to her, checked her quiver, and kicked Winston right into high gear.

The crowd roared, the world rocked forward, and she only picked up speed as she made a single loop around the ring that would be hers to command for one more hour.

Refusing to glance back into the barn as she passed, she nocked an arrow. Burning straight down the center on a path she’d chosen time and time again, only now with the blessing she hadn’t been capable of asking for, she drew as she neared the middle target and took her shot.

She didn’t even have to check to know it struck true. The crowd lifted their approval on a wave of cheers, and the old instincts took hold.

Kylie pulled up Winston’s reins, sprang gracefully off the saddle, and passed his care to a waiting Bex. Then she strode to the center of the room and took a quick bow.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and all of you more fabulously gendered friends,” she called. Then, pausing for dramatic effect, she allowed herself to step fully into the role she’d been told she was born to play. “It’s showtime!”

Fletcher’s stomach twisted in knots, and her heart beat in her throat so hard she wasn’t sure she’d even be able to speak as she picked up the microphone Kylie abandoned after announcing her own competition group.

“Sorry folks, you’ve got me subbing in as emcee for the next few rides,” Fletcher said too close to the mic. A few people grimaced, and she eased back a bit. “I know I’m not as graceful or easy to look at as Ms. Manchester, but what I lack in stage presence, I hope to make up in knowledge.”

Kylie had been magnificent, which wasn’t a surprise. The tentativeness Fletcher had seen in her back in the barn evaporated the moment she got in front of the crowd, replaced by easy charm, dramatic charisma, and a true aptitude for the limelight. Seeing her in her element only affirmed Fletcher had been right about her need to shine. Still, being right about something didn’t always carry the satisfaction one would like.

Kylie had to go, which meant Fletcher needed to let her, but for the next few minutes, it also meant the two of them had virtually no margin for error. It was hard enough knowing she would leave again, but now Fletcher also shared the burden of giving her the best shot to do so.

Still, their burdens had always been shared on some level, so she did her best to smile at the audience and try to lighten the load.

“Our last group of riders is the smallest. Since these are our intermediate competitors, we’re also introducing a new scoring element.” She tried to pause for dramatic effect the way she’d seen Kylie do so many times. “Speed.”

A little murmur of excitement rippled through her assembled neighbors.

“The bulk of mounted archery points come from accuracy because, as a combat sport, very little matters if you can’t hit your adversary. Once you’re able to do so with regularity, it becomes a fight to see who can strike first. Since this discipline is both art and sport, our community decided to award both at the highest level by introducing a countdown clock.”

She nodded to Ava, who pulled a cover off the scoreboard-style display. “In international competition, most riders are given fourteen seconds as a maximum, so that’s where we’re setting our bar, but as with the pros, each of our athletes will have the chance to earn extra points for every second left on the clock when they complete their course. We then add the archery score and the time bonus together to determine our winner.”

She glanced around the audience to make sure everyone appeared on board, and smiles greeted her from neighbors, friends, even Gram, who sat in the second row beaming up at her. The only faces that seemed out of place were the two women huddled close together near the far end of the benches in front of Mimi. One of them managed a pleasantly interested expression, while the other, who looked vaguely familiar, furrowed dark brows. The great Sophia LeBlanc, Fletcher presumed.

She wouldn’t be intimidated, not here in her own arena, but she couldn’t quite blame Kye if she were shaking a little bit in her stirrups just outside.

She set about calling out the names of the four riders ahead of the woman they were all here to see.

The first two were former students. Both nailed their first two shots but either barely nicked the last target or missed it completely.

“The last one is the real kicker,” Fletcher explained to the crowd, and took up her own bow to demonstrate. “The first one should be hit when it’s still ahead of you, and the second when you’re dead even with it. Both of them are clear in your line of sight, and you have a clear line across your body to draw and release. But not the last one.”

She aligned her body in the direction a rider would face. “By the time you have a chance to nock the third arrow at a full canter, the target will most likely be slightly behind you, which means you have to twist slightly around, angling away from the direction your horse is running, and track more with your peripheral vision while engaging tortional muscles both for balance and stability.”

Fletcher set down the mic, then angled her shoulder back, drew both the string and a measured breath, then released both. The arrow hit dead center, sparking a cheer from the eager onlookers. She set her tools down and grabbed the microphone once more. “Thanks, but I didn’t have to do that atop two thousand pounds of racing horse without holding the reins. That’s up to our next two champions. And up now we’ve got an out-of-towner who traveled all the way up from Western New York to join us today. Let’s give a warm welcome to Hayden Meyers.”

The crowd applauded, and Fletcher prayed their excited attention on him would distract from the queasiness that had to be showing on her own face. This guy was the wild card. Fletcher had met him only the day before, but he appeared to know his stuff. He also represented the only real challenge to Kylie’s dominance, and as he loped around into line with the row of targets, his form lacked nothing. Picking up speed, his beautiful quarter horse hit its stride as the clock started, and he loosed his first arrow gracefully. The second came in rapid succession, and he’d already nocked his third by the time it struck center. As he angled himself in much the same way Fletcher had demonstrated, even her fear mingled with a touch of admiration. He released, and she tracked his arrow just a hair shy of the center ring, then everyone turned in unison to the clock, which read exactly one second.

Shit. She gritted her teeth and forced her most polite smile. “Nicely done, Hayden. We have our first clean run of this level, and with it a solid dose of pressure on our final and most famous horse archer.”

Fletcher’s voice grew prouder and more animated as she went, hoping that Kylie could hear her. “You local folks know her as the small-town girl who made good at the movies. The rest of the world knows her as a Golden Globe Award-winning star of stage and screen, but today she’s going to let you in on something I’ve known since high school. The famous and talented Kye Manchester is also a cutthroat, competitive horse archer.”

The crowd burst into applause, and Fletcher’s chest expanded. She’d never heard anything as wildly enthusiastic in this space, or any other she’d ever ridden in front of. These people knew what they wanted, and they were collectively begging Kylie to give it to them.

True to form, she burst through the doorway already riding at a full canter. Dropping the reins, she drew back the arrow she’d already nocked and struck the first target in the center with an effortless grace. She and Winston rose and fell as one, her strong legs and easy rhythm making it appear as if she were glued to him as she pulled another arrow from her thigh quiver, eyes never leaving the target as her elegant fingers worked entirely by feel.

The second shot landed in the golden center, and Fletcher held her breath along with every other person in the cavernous space as hoofbeats pounded sand and Kylie rose in the stirrups. Long auburn strands of hair blew down her back on the breeze she’d created. Her blouse and pants billowed beautifully, dramatic, captivating, drenched in power and prowess. Even without the magic of the movies, this woman embodied stardom in her very essence.

The world seemed to move in slow motion and crushing speed all at once as they watched, helplessly hopeful, while Kye twisted and drew the string taut toward her cheek. Then with the slightest twitch of two fingers, she released her final strike, and with it cast the die on several futures at once.