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Then he winced. Obviously not freaking fine.
“Is he okay?” Calla looked up to see Bethany on her horse, standing in the rapids and looking back at them. Since when was Bethany human?
“I’m fine,” Mack muttered, hefting himself to his feet. Water sluiced down from his body but thank God, he didn’t seem to have broken anything.
“What happened?”
“Is he okay?”
More and more riders were arriving and seeing Mack unhorsed. Several of the judges had come to the edge of the stream as well.
Out of her periphery, Calla noticed Bethany take off. In the direction of the finish line. Calla rolled her eyes. So much for human.
“Are you okay to walk?” Calla asked Mack. “I’ll get Torpedo.”
Mack nodded, wincing again as he took a few steps into the deeper water.
“He’s okay!” someone behind them called out and there were cheers and clapping.
Calla got Torpedo’s lead and he walked through the stream, no problem. Mack was standing on the shore, hands on his knees.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Calla asked when she got to him.
He immediately reached for Torpedo and the horse nosed toward him like he too wanted to make sure Mack was all right.
“What even happened?” Calla asked, staring at Torpedo in bewilderment.
“Fuck if I know. He must have got spooked by that blond chick’s horse when she went past. We were doing fine until then.”
Bethany. Calla glared open-mouthed toward the finish line. But no. Surely she wouldn’t try to— Not just to win a piddly little competition like this?
Calla shook her head, dismissing the thought. Not even Bethany was that twisted. More likely it was something in the stream that had spooked Torpedo. He hadn’t been exposed to a stream like that any more than Painter had. Some horses were bound to spook easier than others. It’d be something they’d have to focus on training him with when they got back to the ranch.
Other riders streamed past them toward the finish line. So much for showing what she and Painter could do.
Then she shook her head at her thoughts. God, what if something had happened to Mack? It had been a nasty fall. It was only by the grace of God he was all right. It had looked like Torpedo landed right on top of him.
“You want to just walk Torpedo in?” Calla asked. “It’s not too far.”
Mack glowered. “The saying is literally get back up on the horse.”
Calla held up her hands. “Whatever you say boss.”
“Th
at’s the right attitude.” He smacked her ass and she yelped. “Stop slacking. If we’re not careful, Liam’s gonna beat us and neither of us will ever live that down.”
“Speaking of.” Calla nodded over Mack’s shoulder as she grabbed hold of Painter’s saddle to mount up again.
Liam and Mistress had finally gotten to the stream. Where she’d stopped to take a leisurely drink. Liam’s curses could be heard clear across the stream. “Come on, you poxy cow! Move!”
Calla laughed as she readjusted her seat. Ugh. Nothing like the feel of wet jeans on a damp leather saddle.
“He’s gonna kick her flank,” Mack observed, not yet up on Torpedo.
“No,” Calla said. “He knows better. She’s ticklish there.”
Liam kept nudging Mistress with his thighs to get her moving forward, but she ignored him as if he were little more than an annoying gnat.
