by Leigh Dillon
A black shape rose, Tonio’s trim form hunched low on its back. Sam landed with a thud, and a huge roar went up from the grandstands. Riders and trainers watching with Destin jumped up and down and grabbed him, pounding him on the back and hugging him in excitement.
“Forty-one point eight four seconds! Team Bellmeade easily takes over the lead spot. A clear round and an absolutely phenomenal time!” the commentator shouted.
“That’s two full seconds lower than Ward’s score,” the female commentator added. “There’s still one competitor to go, but I don’t think anyone can equal the time Tonio just posted.”
The gate opened and Sam sauntered out, nostrils wide, snorting and bobbing his head. Tonio still looked a little wild-eyed, but his ear-to-ear grin showed he knew he had performed out of his head. He raised his hand, and Destin ran forward to high-five him, grinning about as widely as Tonio.
“Fantastic!” Destin shouted. “Better hang around. You’ll be going back out for your victory lap in about thirty seconds.”
Tonio slid out of the saddle. Destin had to reach out and steady Tonio when he hit the ground. His legs were still quivering with adrenaline, and his knees buckled a little when he landed. Destin didn’t have words, so he turned his support into a tight embrace.
“We have another sponsor interested,” he said into Tonio’s ear. “Mikko Logistics called while you were still in the ring. They’re acting like they’re just nibbling, but they have the hook so far down their throat, there’s no way we’re not getting their support.”
“Cool. And don’t look now,” Tonio murmured back, “but the Team USA chef d’equipe is speaking to me again.”
Destin took a covert look at the people milling around the exit gate and, sure enough, spotted the American team leader watching them. Excitement surged even higher in Destin’s chest. He gave Tonio a squeeze that nearly crushed the breath out of the circuit’s best comeback story, then let go and stepped back. The other riders gave him a curt nod and a word of congratulation and returned to their places along the fence to see the last competitor flail hopelessly around the ring, already three dropped rails and three seconds behind Tonio.
“My client has upped his offer for Sambuca,” a voice said in Destin’s ear. “You ready to discuss it yet?”
Destin turned to face the sales agent. “Black Sambuca is not for sale. I wasn’t kidding when I said he wouldn’t perform for any rider but Tonio, and I think your client would be extremely disappointed with her purchase if she didn’t go for the package deal.”
“I’m sure she would pick up Tonio’s contract.”
Destin grinned. He hadn’t been in a position to have the upper hand in a negotiation in, well, ever. It felt good.
“Tonio is staying with me. He’s going to have his hands full once we add to our show string. Speaking of which, is Peterson ready to let go of Mooncat yet?”
“Getting there. Congratulations on the win, by the way.”
Polite applause echoed around the ring. The gate opened and the final rider rode out of the ring, laughing ruefully. Destin heard “Well, that sucked” before the rider dismounted and was swarmed by friends and colleagues offering condolences. The time on the board stood four seconds over Tonio’s time, with sixteen faults.
“Winner, winner,” Destin said to Tonio.
“Lobster dinner,” Tonio shot back, laughing.
“Better set a third place at that lobster dinner,” Destin said.
Tonio tensed. “Why? Who’s coming?”
“Johanna’s contract with Keenan is up in May. She’s definitely interested in coming back to Bellmeade.”
Tonio’s grin reappeared. “Hah! Reinforcements,” he exclaimed. “Moondog is screwed, yo.”
“It’s Mooncat, and outdated street lingo makes you sound old, dude.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t fit the new and improved me, anyway. Then again, you’ve got the class, and I’ve got the brass.” Tonio tugged at his natty riding jacket, then stopped and pulled Destin’s tie straight. “You’re going to strangle yourself with that thing someday if you keep yanking on it.”
“I can’t help it. You still scare the crap out of me.”
“But look where it’s got us.” Tonio patted Sam’s neck.
“Better mount up,” a uniformed official called to Tonio. “The placings are official.”
Destin boosted Tonio back into the saddle, and both of them cocked their ears toward the ring’s loudspeakers. The names of the top three winners reverberated in weird multiplied echoes, and with a last grin at Destin, Tonio rode into the ring. Destin walked out behind him, followed by the second- and third-place winners and their connections. Far ahead, Black Sambuca flowed around the ring like swift, dark water, and as they passed the VIP tent, Tonio dropped the reins and raised both hands over his head in triumph.
He looks so good. Tonio and Sam are a beautiful picture.
The crowd seemed to agree. The cheering, already enthusiastic, rose to a feverish pitch as Tonio galloped Sam around the ring. Then Tonio came full circle and pulled up beside Destin, and together they walked sedately to the center of the ring, where the stewards waited with the winner’s ribbons and a silver tray.
I’ve done it. We’ve done it. In a happy daze, Destin watched the stewards pin the tricolor ribbon to Sam’s saddle blanket and heard the name “Bellmeade” triple echo from the sides of the barns. He imagined future shows, standing with Sam again, and the big gray, Mooncat, now his for a relative song because of a temperamental streak. And there were others he had his eye on as sponsors and winning purses slowly fattened the farm’s depleted coffers.
But for now, this was enough. There would be a lobster dinner, all right, because Tonio had promised to cook one, to be followed later by another, more energetic celebration in the big four-poster bed. There would be new photographs for the office wall, new trophies in the glass-fronted case, new legends inscribed in the annals of Bellmeade.
Heart brimming, Destin walked out of the glare of the ring lights and looked off into the distance, where the soft spring sunset glowed golden pink behind the violet humps of the Blue Ridge. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, and he raised his face to it, breathing in the fragrance of hay and azaleas and spring leaves. Ahead of him on the path to the barns, Tonio’s voice lifted in raucous song.
This is it. Destin pulled off his tie and strode across the sand, feeling as tall as the Lonesome Pine and just as deeply rooted. This is my world, and I’m never leaving it again.
LEIGH DILLON is a native of horse-happy North Central Florida but has deep family roots in the Virginia and West Virginia areas. Coming of age in the dinosaur days of cable television, when fledgling channels filled their empty blocks of programming time by airing entire equestrian competitions, Leigh’s young brain became infected with a lifelong mania for show jumping, three-day eventing, and other exotic horse sports. Though tragically denied a pony of her own in childhood, Leigh has wreaked her revenge by including equine characters in almost everything she writes.
A bookbinder and librarian by trade, Leigh has also worked on local thoroughbred horse farms. Leigh’s short fiction has been featured twice in the Florida Writers Association annual story collection, and the Royal Palm Literary Award conferred Book of the Year honors on one of her book-length words in 2017. When not immersed in writing, creating, and curating books, Leigh maintains a backyard habitat for native bees and butterflies, with a special emphasis on growing milkweed to help maintain the population of monarch butterflies. Despite being in-town suburban, this habitat also plays host to frogs, opossums, raccoons, and the occasional urban armadillo, not to mention a dazzling array of birds. Leigh lives with one enormous black cat, two noisy parakeets, and her long-suffering mother.
You can keep up with her latest writing news and releases at leighdillonwrites.com.
By Leigh Dillon
Raising the Bar
Published by DREAMSPINNER PRESS
www.dreamspinne
rpress.com
Published by
DREAMSPINNER PRESS
5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886 USA
www.dreamspinnerpress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of author imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Raising the Bar
© 2018 Leigh Dillon.
Cover Art
© 2018 Brooke Albrecht.
http://brookealbrechtstudio.com
Cover content is for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted on the cover is a model.
All rights reserved. This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of international copyright law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. Any eBook format cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 5032 Capital Circle SW, Suite 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA, or www.dreamspinnerpress.com.
Digital ISBN: 978-1-64080-736-5
Digital eBook published September 2018
v. 1.0
Printed in the United States of America