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We complete our lap and slow to a walk, back through the alley and past a handful of other racers in various stages of brushing down their horses and removing tack. I get to the area designated for Mab, and I dismount before I realize we’ve been followed by a reporter with a camera. The flash shines brightly in my eyes and I flinch.
“Hi, Winnie. My name is Erica Jenkins, and I’m withHorse Girlmagazine. I was hoping to ask you a few questions. Our readers are enormously invested in your story.”
“Um…” I see Case and my family walking up. I meet Case’s gaze, and he nods, pulling up short and saying something to my dad. “S-sure.” I turn my full attention to the reporter. “Sorry. Yes.”
She follows the direction of my gaze, but if she recognizes Case, she doesn’t show it. “Winnie.” She pauses. “Is it okay if I call you Winnie, or would you ratherMs. Sutton?”
“Winnie’s great.” Mab nuzzles the back of my head and snuffs in my hair. I wince at the familiar wetness. “And this is Queen Mab,” I say. “Clearly, she’s angling for the introduction.”
The reporter laughs. “She’s incredible. How long have you two been together?”
“About two and a half years. I work for CBM Ranch, and she was a rescue. She turned up one day and was a pain in the rear to everyone but me, for some reason. She picked me, and I picked her.”
“Is it true this is your first season racingever?”
I nod. “First for both of us. But I’ve been riding my entire life. I’ve always watched barrel racing and thought it was about as badass as you can get on horseback. When Mab showed up, I could tell she had a spark, and my boss gave her to me to see what she was made of. I was originally training her for someone else to ride, but… well, Mab is picky.” I shrug. “Turns out, we were made for each other.”
“I’ll say! You two are all anyone’s talking about. You’ve taken the barrel-racing circuit by storm this season. People are speculating you as front-runners in Vegas this winter. What do you think of that?”
She shoves the mic in my face, and the camera flashes, capturing my undoubtedly stunned expression.
“Oh, well…” I catch my dad’s eyes again.
He’s watching me intently, waiting for my response. And suddenly, it’s obvious. That look on his face is realization. He finally gets it. I wish we could talk. I need to know what he’sthinking. I blink and restart, focusing on the reporter and the mic outstretched in front of me.
“Every day I get to ride Mab and show her off is one I never thought I’d have. I can’t say for sure about Vegas. It’s hugely encouraging that people think we could make it that far, and I’m so grateful for all the support we’ve gotten. Everyone has been so welcoming. I feel incredibly blessed. We’re gonna take it one day, one race, at a time and see where this journey takes us.”
The reporter grins, no doubt finding me modest. And that’s fine. I am modest, just not about what she thinks. The truth is, I know Mab and I could make it to Vegas. But I don’t see how we will.
ThirtyWINNIE
I’m feeling pretty wired after the event and the interview, so I send my family home with hugs and Mab home with Camilla and her giant F-150 to pull the trailer. Case offers to stay, no doubt picking up on my restlessness.
We end up walking the fair, like we did after the first rodeo, except this time we’re hand in hand. The sun is beginning its descent, and the big Texas sky is more purple than the brilliant robin’s-egg blue of this afternoon. We get some barbecue that we eat at a picnic table, drink tall fresh-squeezed lemonades, and avoid the noisy rides. In our ripped jeans, T-shirts, and ball caps, we could be any other kids at the fair. While I love my newfound rodeo reputation, this is nice, too. Simple and sweet. Case and I haven’t had a ton of nights like this.
“There’s some dancing under the pavilion,” he says.
I consider his offer. I’ve never danced with anyone before—it might be kind of fun.
“Or,” I say impishly, “we could find a place to do our own dancing.”
His eyebrows raise under the brim of his cap. “You have my attention, despite the cheesy metaphor.”
I laugh, shoving him sideways. “It’s just that aside from stolen minutes in the tack room, which, to be clear, are always fun, we’ve barely had a moment to ourselves in weeks.”
His too-attractive lips curl in a confident grin, setting off his dimples. “You saying you miss me, Sutton?”
I pull him closer, wrapping my arm snugly through his, tipping my head onto his firm shoulder, and taking a long, dragging hit of his dizzying-good smell. “Maybe.”
“In that case”—he picks up his pace and leads us toward the exit—“I think I know a spot we could go. If you aren’t opposed to nature.”
I raise my pointer finger in the air. “Question: Will mosquitos be an issue?”
He shakes his head. “Not if we keep the windows up.”
“Have I told you how much I love your stupid overpriced SUV with its ginormous back seat?”
“Convenient, right? You haven’t waxed poetic before, but I’m up to the challenge of changing your mind.”
